I’ve been trying to figure out a way to express how I’m feeling of late. When my friends ask me how I am, I kind of shrug and attempt an answer but don’t finish. ‘Can’t complain’ – would be the closest I can come.
I am not bored. I find some reason to be happy every single day. Work is fine but not wonderful, friends are plentiful and good but many seem to be sad these days. I am not struggling with money, my flatmate and I are getting along. I am feeling very healthy.
But I am not quite myself.
As winter sets in, as I didn’t quite believe it would, I find myself incredulously adjusting to this all too familiar season as if it were my first. Yet it is the season of all the other years and the routines are familiar – alarms come earlier while you are dead asleep, you leave your office to find the sun already gone. And yet this year winter seems hesitant to move in – she keeps us waiting. Our autumn was summer-like, our winter is autumn-like.
I realise this is appropriate weather for how I’m feeling – dragging of heels. After all, how could winter come, how can time keep moving when someone so important is missing?
And it is this thought that grounds me – makes me see what I am doing, and I can articulate what is going on.
I am patiently waiting for this year to end. For I know what this year has brought me, I can write the retrospective regardless of the next 6 weeks. I am holding my breath and praying for nothing worse to happen, as my annus horribilis is not quite finished yet.
This may sound dramatic, but in reality it’s a dull subtlety – a tiny disengagement. I am just existing (pleasantly mind you), but I am not really living. I am not looking for love, for adventure – all the things I normally base my existence around. I am looking for finality and security. It means that as I laugh, exercise, work and play these days, there is a little part of me sitting back saying ‘play it safe until December 31’.