Blurred vision

My office window is southwest facing. I sit in the shadow of the Calgary Tower, the symbol for the city I have run from and returned to more times in my life than I can count. It is the city I live in now; it is the city I love. It took me years to come to terms with this, but I have at last and it feels good to be home. My office window is large and the sun creeps into frame as the day wears on. I sit at my desk. It is mine and no one else’s. It is scattered with paper, publications, office supplies and notebooks. Half-empty mugs of tea, a small bowl of almonds and a bag of dried mango slices. My cell phone. A water bottle. A parking ticket I have been ignoring for almost 2 weeks now. It needs to be paid. My desk is messy. Very messy.

I have often felt comfortable in the midst of organized chaos. I have always, sub-consciously or otherwise, been drawn to it and conducted myself thusly. New York city, the home of my heart. Seoul; the city I never knew I loved until I felt its indescribable pull and energy. How I miss it. The flurry of friendships and activities I have always immersed myself in. Work, school, classes, friends, family, dinners, teas, drinks, parties, plays, running, yoga, gym, skype, books, wine, laughter. Sleep was always a secondary thought. A passing fancy. Something others needed but not me.

The door to my office closes if I want it to. It stays open often.

Writing used to feel different. Words were a comfort, and ever flowing. I blended sarcasm and the meaning of life like it was a strawberry margarita. It feels different now. Stilted, rusty. I miss my voice.

I work in a job I do not hate. My opinions and thoughts are listened to, and heard. Often they are respected, regardless of whether they are implemented or not. My work is seen and admired by industry professionals and I work with a team of people I both like and respect. It is a rare thing. This is a rare thing.

Once upon a time, many years ago, I was an artist, an actor. I often feel I have lost my way. That I am scattered, adrift. That my passion has dissolved into the color that is the rest of my life. That the choices I have made were the wrong choices. Or bad choices. I look back at who I was and look at who I am.

I am unrecognizable. Blurred. Messy.

I have a job I do not hate. I have friends and family who love and whom I love. I have a home. I have a man to love and who loves me dearly. I am getting married. I am moving forward. I have security. I am young.

Why do I feel so empty?