I feel strange. I’m not sure if it’s the change in the weather, or my pending move, or something that will simply reveal itself in time. But I woke this morning with a curious feeling that I cannot quite put a name to. I feel as if something is coming; a shift of some kind. As yet, I’m not sure whether this is a good thing, or bad. I’ll just have to wait and see how everything progresses.

Frankly, there is something about this time of year that makes me reflective. And I don’t just mean because the year is waning, and drawing ever closer to it’s end. Time seems to be slipping away from me faster than ever before, and the list of things I want to do grows ever bigger and seemingly more unattainable. I can’t help but feel like I’ve wasted the opportunities this year has given me, and yet on the other hand it feels as though the Universe is conspiring to drive me constantly back to the same places, both literally and figuratively. If there’s a reason for this, I’ve yet to discover what it is, but I no longer have the energy to fight it. Perhaps this has been my problem all along. Fighting against the tide only works for so long, before you must resign yourself to the fact that perhaps it is better to just let the current take you wherever it intends you to go.

I have to believe that whatever this change is that I can sense coming, is going to be for a good reason, even if that reason is not immediately apparent to me. I have to remember that there are some things I have no control over, and try to just go with the flow, whatever comes.

I can only hope that this shift brings with it something positive. I’ve had quite enough negative for this year, thank you very much.


Giving Advice to Everyone But Me

I’ve been giving a lot of advice lately. A few people in my life have had dilemmas, and have come to me to talk it out and to make me a sounding board for the things going on in their lives and their heads. I don’t mind, I think it’s nice that these people can talk to me, and that I am able to help them in even the smallest measure. Just call me Amy the Sage. All I need now is a beard that I can stroke thoughtfully and I’ll be ready to set myself up in a counsel booth!


I can be notoriously vague and forgetful, and sometimes the silly things that come out of my mouth surprise even me with how daft they are. But there’s a clever little brain in my head, and when people need it, evidently I can spill out good counsel like a fountain. Without trying to blow my own horn here, I think I usually give pretty good advice. So long as that advice is given to someone else. See, as good as I am at helping other people with seeing the bigger picture, I can never seem to do that for myself. Even when I know exactly what the answer is, and even if I know I would give my own advice to someone else if they were dealing with a particular problem that I’m struggling with, I ignore that little voice in my head that tells me what I should do.

Isn’t it funny how we can never seem to separate ourselves from our problems until someone points out what we already know. I mean, maybe that’s just me, and everyone else in the world is better at problem solving than I am. Personally, I always go to my best friend for advice. I talk to him about things that are concerning me, or making me angry, or stressing me the hell out. And every single time, he tells me what I already know and was just ignoring. He usually gives me extra advice too, pointing out the things I hadn’t thought of, or helping me see things from another angle. And then it’s like, oh, because that advice has come from someone I trust, now I can take it. I don’t know, I’m maybe definitely pretty stubborn and maybe I don’t trust myself enough to believe I’m telling myself the right thing.

Regardless, I think it’s important to have someone – or multiple someones – ┬áin your life that you can approach with problems and know that you will receive sound advice. Even if that advice is what you already knew deep down. And if I can play that role for any of my friends, then I think I’m doing ok.