Grateful for the perspective, the opinion new
Grateful for your beauty, the access to you
Grateful for all caution, the distance you obtain
Grateful for the recklessness, the memories remain
Grateful for the knowledge, the things I couldn't see
Grateful for the hope, that there is more for me.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Professional Voyeurism
I think holidays always mess with your head... They mess with your routine, your scheduling, your priorities, your expectations, your sleep, your happiness and your heart. Especially when your holiday is a kind of "once in a life time" event... or when your sister is getting married in another country.... or when your mom has suddenly taken ill.... or when you see friends and family members that you havn't seen in so many years...Or when you do all of the above in two weeks, in a different time zone.
I expected the excitement. I anticipated the fun. I was prepared for the joy and the glee and the mirth. I was not prepared for the crushing, heart wrenching anguish that washed over me, the hopelessness that I felt. I suppose if I were better traveled, then I would be more prepared for such things. But as a travel newbie, it was devastating.
Most people in Georgia are from Town X. Born in Town X, raised in Town X, went to school in Town X, married in Town X and die in Town X. Their kids then repeat this cycle, ad nauseum.
South Africans have to be the most tortured of nations. We all run away. We have blurred memories of home, the concept of a family home is a tricky one to answer, we have pangs of pure heartbreak and a sense of longing for home, in the same sense whilst knowing we can never return there. Instead we seek refuge in whatever country will have us. We often leave in groups, or as individuals, and never return home, except for holidays if we can afford them, or to see family members we have left behind.
I left on March 11th 2005. And I have never been back.
So this recent trip to England basically was my first trip that I took for "fun"... Since arriving here in 2005, I have been working, trying to raise a family, trying to study. I definitely have not been traveling or spending a lot of time having fun. Even the holidays we have taken as a family were more of the perfunctory variety. The "we're here, lets do something" variety. Not the "you know what I want, dream, wish to do" variety.
There's always a place you envision yourself. And living in small town America was not where I placed myself. I have a hard time defining what I want. I normally start by a process of elimination. I normally can tell you what I don't want first, rather than what I do want.....
According to Woody Allen, delivered by Penelope Cruz, I suffer from "chronic dissatisfaction"... (Vicky Cristina Barcelona), so actually even if I get everything that I wanted or thought I wanted, I will still find flaws in it. I have a hard time with gratitude, or so I am learning. The grass is always greener, the beer is colder, the nights are more mystical in another life that isn't mine.
I feel like a professional voyeur, always on the look out, for an existence to call my own. All whilst not appreciating what is right here under my nose. I am the quintessential moron staring at her phone, missing an entire sunset. I spend so much time on sensory processing and what should be and what could be and what isn't, that I miss what is.
I expected the excitement. I anticipated the fun. I was prepared for the joy and the glee and the mirth. I was not prepared for the crushing, heart wrenching anguish that washed over me, the hopelessness that I felt. I suppose if I were better traveled, then I would be more prepared for such things. But as a travel newbie, it was devastating.
Most people in Georgia are from Town X. Born in Town X, raised in Town X, went to school in Town X, married in Town X and die in Town X. Their kids then repeat this cycle, ad nauseum.
South Africans have to be the most tortured of nations. We all run away. We have blurred memories of home, the concept of a family home is a tricky one to answer, we have pangs of pure heartbreak and a sense of longing for home, in the same sense whilst knowing we can never return there. Instead we seek refuge in whatever country will have us. We often leave in groups, or as individuals, and never return home, except for holidays if we can afford them, or to see family members we have left behind.
I left on March 11th 2005. And I have never been back.
So this recent trip to England basically was my first trip that I took for "fun"... Since arriving here in 2005, I have been working, trying to raise a family, trying to study. I definitely have not been traveling or spending a lot of time having fun. Even the holidays we have taken as a family were more of the perfunctory variety. The "we're here, lets do something" variety. Not the "you know what I want, dream, wish to do" variety.
There's always a place you envision yourself. And living in small town America was not where I placed myself. I have a hard time defining what I want. I normally start by a process of elimination. I normally can tell you what I don't want first, rather than what I do want.....
According to Woody Allen, delivered by Penelope Cruz, I suffer from "chronic dissatisfaction"... (Vicky Cristina Barcelona), so actually even if I get everything that I wanted or thought I wanted, I will still find flaws in it. I have a hard time with gratitude, or so I am learning. The grass is always greener, the beer is colder, the nights are more mystical in another life that isn't mine.
I feel like a professional voyeur, always on the look out, for an existence to call my own. All whilst not appreciating what is right here under my nose. I am the quintessential moron staring at her phone, missing an entire sunset. I spend so much time on sensory processing and what should be and what could be and what isn't, that I miss what is.
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