“there are just so many things, i keep wondering what i am doing with my life, i’ve been questioning this for the past few weeks, partially because i’ve picked up on my second job and work 40 hours a week. i want to work on my singing, i want to find a cheap enough keyboard on craigslist already, i want to learn the basics of modern dance. what am i doing, doing the same routine everyday at work for these families? i want to turn my life into a career. i don’t want to work for somebody. and i think i just have high standards for an ideal life, my freedom and independence needs to be maximized. i loved being jobless for 1.5 months back in november and december, it was amazing. i already know what i want, i don’t know how to get there persay, but that’s just right now. i’ve been battling with whether i should quit one of my jobs or not. i don’t even need this money anyway. jesus christ, i have dreams. what the hell am i doing waking up everyday preparing food for these children and singing them songs, it’s great, i love the children and spending time with them, but it’s so much commitment. and by having an interpersonal job, i spend so much time connecting to these children that when i come home i’m drained. i don’t want to be busy, or i want to be busy but not label it as busy, because i’m having so much fun.”
I come home so tired that there I fail to have any motivation for anything. If only life was as simple as my everyday poetry and rants.
What am I doing with my life? I find this question to be the ultimate question as of late, not because I’m anxious about the “purpose” of my life, but for the very reason that I may or may not love the pace at which my life is now. What am I doing here, waking up everyday, taking care of somebody else’s life? I want to foster my life. I’m terrible with commitment in general because I’m such a vagabond – I have trouble finishing books because I become too excited with other books. I don’t finish projects. It’s not that I am afraid of commitment, it’s just I don’t believe in stability. So what am I doing here, being a nanny that requires stability? If, for 21 years, I could hardly commit to anything, how can I commit to these lengthy hours? What keeps me here is that I feel guilty for leaving the families, because yes, I do love them, and yes, I do want to be there for them, but I also want to expand my vagabond life.
I want to read about scientists and poets. I want to travel. I want to roam the streets of San Francisco and talk to the array of people that collect there. I want to meet artists. I recently was going to plan a trip to Seattle late February, but I found out there is going to be an open reception at the San Jose Contemporary Art Museum with one of my favorite Bay Area artists. I found out that the next day, there’s going to be a Chinese New Year parade at Santana Row. I decided to delay my trip for the events. This is my life: finding the treasures in the city and seeking out those opportunities.
What the hell am I doing at these jobs performing the same old routine everyday that isn’t contributing to my growth, but just feeding numbers into my savings account?
There’s this phrase in Chinese, I can translate it directly but it doesn’t quite have the same feel. My mom always told me I’m somebody that lives comfortably. And she’s right. I am.
There is so much I want to do. I want to be courageous enough to daringly sing in front of people. Once I had one of my windows open. I sing at the top of my lungs in my studio. As I walked downstairs the next day, a neighbor asked if that was me singing. I immediately blushed and had to say yes. From then on, I never opened my windows. I want to mentor children who come from troubled families. I want to tutor students in AP Psychology. I want to take a creative writing class or art history class at De Anza. There is so much. So much. I want to paint. I want to volunteer at the animal shelter. Long before I moved into this studio, I decided that I wanted to collect Trader Joe’s paper bags and line them against a wall and splatter paint and see what happens, just experiment with mediums and whatnot (maybe a mix between Gerhard Richter and Jackson Pollock?)
Bleck, I don’t think I like working. And I’m stubborn enough to do something about it. Let’s see what happens.. even 25-30 hours would be so much more ideal. This way it gives me some breathing space.