My mind is swirling with a series of unrelated, half formed thoughts. I have tried to begin this post six times, and deleted the paragraph each time. I am thinking about the weight of expectation, and the way people have a tendency to disappoint us, and how unfulfilled I feel, and I am thinking about the clothes I want to make, and the places I want to travel, and the things I wish I had done. My mind is a very busy place at the moment, which is probably a good thing, because my workplace is very much the opposite of busy. That’s where I am, right at this very moment. I am sitting on my bench at work, writing this post whilst all around me, people are milling about, living their lives, doing their thing, and paying me absolutely no mind.
Truth be told, I don’t mind being invisible sometimes. It means no one is in my face, demanding things of me. My time, my attention, my affection, my energy. I think we often spend so much of our time giving to other people, that we don’t leave enough for ourselves. Then again, perhaps this is only true of people who are of a similar disposition to me. I have friends who seem to have boundless energy and sunlight to give to people, but I guard my energy more closely. It’s draining to give to much of yourself to other people, and I think sometimes we feel obligated to give more than we can afford to lose, just so we don’t have to incur any disappointment. They expect so much, don’t they?
I am running on an ever draining battery. Customer service has that effect too. I spend all day dealing with others, helping them with the things that need fixing, offering smiles and conversation and losing a little more of myself with each passing interaction. The nineteen year old girl I am training also requires my time and attention, and I try my best to fill the role of both manager and trainer, but I have found my tolerance for the everyday routine is waning, and I find it harder and harder to maintain the facade. Every part of me is screaming for a break from all the people. I need a quite place alone, where I can think and get my head straight, and refuel and recharge. Bukowski said it best when he wrote “People empty me. I have to get away to refill.”
Small things bring me joy, amidst all this loss of energy and self. A text from a friend brings me a smile. I am making progress with two particular financial goals I have set for myself. I started writing again. These things are the things I cling to, when everything else seems less than satisfactory. I guess that’s what it’s all about, in the end. You just have to appreciate the small things.