Why can’t I come to grips with my purpose? 

  I am constantly in search of something. What that something is, probably is not as important or urgent as I think. Unfortunately my natural reaction is to free the fuck out. I am almost 30 and still feel I have not committed to a profession. I love music and have for a long time but, don’t find it as interesting as I used to. 

  I still want to pursue it wholeheartedly before I die. The next best thing is writing. I have been writing everyday for the last 4 going on 5 years. It’s become a serious habit. I criticize the hell out of my own work all of the time.     

  It’s a way for me to run away from the fear, pain, and judgement of others. Yet, I keep writing every single day. I even feel terrible if I miss a day or wait to late in the day to publish a thought. As of late I have started the manuscript of my next book. This time I am going slower and writing with less urgency.

   Maybe it will help me edit better. My other interests are scattered all over the place. The outcome is severe anxiety whenever I have a day off of work to myself. Now I sit on the edge of my bed contemplating the smoke of a joint or the laughter of the big bang theory. Maybe a combination of both. 

  Regardless I need to let go of this urge to run fast and run far (metaphorically). Do you ever feel like this? 

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