My New Zealand fantasy is back again.
I am always looking for the fix. Always dreaming of the one thing that will make life magical and me, happy to be in it. Sometimes it’s writing a best-selling novel. Sometimes it’s falling in love. Sometimes it’s a different job (like the random, maybe I should have gone into the clergy thoughts of a few weeks ago).
Today, it’s New Zealand, a place I have never been. As I was driving to work this morning, I was trying to figure out what I would do with my dog if I really did move to New Zealand. (To be perfectly honest, I also spent part of the drive wondering if I should look for a job teaching, and part of it wondering if I should try to find a shaman near me. It’s not a very long drive.)
I don’t want to spend my life chasing after a fantasy. Which is not to say I shouldn’t dream, only that I’m not sure what I hope to catch is anything real. I don’t know that it exists. I’m not sure there is anything to fix.
I would expect to feel sad or disappointed thinking this may just be how life is. Because I don’t particularly like it. I’m so incredibly uncomfortable in it. Instead, I just feel like laughing.