Freckled Face Forward

Maybe you’re new here.
Maybe you’re not.

I’m plain old’ Lauren.
I’m twenty-seven.

I am an ambiguously complex girl.
I’m in the wrong place, but not at the wrong time.

My “city” is even ambiguously complex. It’s in two states. Two southern states at that. It’s either two cities or one, depending on whether you place “AR”/”TX” or “USA” after “Texarkana,”.

To begin, let’s call it “two cities.” What we have in common: the name, the bible-thumpers, the lack of culture, an interstate, Wal-Mart, dog-parks, convention centers. Where we differ: city government, liquor laws, fair grounds, state pride, taxes, and bumper stickers (There seems to be a large number of people trying to discreetly tell the world not to mess with Texas. Don’t even think about it).

To quote an exert from The Perks of Being a Wallflower, “So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.” Although, I think I’m figuring it out. You see, about 3 years ago, I was ignorantly happy. I knew I was a hard pill to swallow, I knew I was a little too abrasive, I knew I loved myself, I knew I love the capital city I lived in at the time, and I knew I didn’t want to get married (and certainly never wanted kids), because I knew…I KNEW that I could never love someone to the standard that I think spouses should love each other. I’m not a selfish girl, but I’m independent (to a fault at times) and can tend to push people away. You should know that in the past year, I have married, become a step-mother, stopped working in nonprofits (something I have worked towards since I was in elementary school), moved to the type of place I SWORE I would never live in again, and because of that, am forced to surround myself with people who I would never allow in my life.

I want you to know that I don’t regret one damn thing. Because that I love the dude I married more than the standard I originally held for spouses loving each other. That does not mean that I have never fantasized about choking him. Or that I haven’t put myself in a dark place wondering why the hell he still loves me. We are not in the cupcake stage. We’re in a “real” stage that I have only seen in one other couple in my ENTIRE life. ONE. I say that to defend him and our marriage, but that is not why I’m writing today. I’m writing about the other stuff.

I am unbelievably unsatisfied with all of the rest of my life. That’s not entirely true.  Knowing I made the right decision to be with him makes everything else more tolerable – let’s just say I “nothing” it, because I am, after all, a “blessed” person. I nothing this town, I nothing the people in it, I nothing my job, I nothing my social life, I even nothing my ability anymore. Because it’s one of those places you just know won’t get better. There’s no problem to the people here, it’s me that’s unsatisfied, not them. Except for a girl who is living out the exact same scenario that I am (she moved from New York). She understands.

Oh yeah….aging isn’t helping. Late twenties means your body, friends, priorities, fun, and stamina ALL change.

But my greatest…my GREATEST problem…is for the first time in my life, I lack passion. And that has directly impacted my hope. Because to me, passion drives hope (careful, that can be either good or bad. Cool it, Voldemort). I want to write, but I have nothing to write about (if you’ve read this far, you see what I’m talking about). I want to paint, again, but I have no inspiration to paint. I want to explore new things, but there is nothing new here, unless you count the newly renovated Taco Bell on Stateline. I want to change the world, but there is no “problem” here. They don’t want change. I want to find pride in my work, but it’s very clear that I’m here to make a profit. And there’s no competition. If they want to replace me with someone with far less abilities, they can. And it would work. And I have no where to go, no hope for a raise, no inspiring projects, no real stimulating work.

Ladies and Gents, I need stimulation. How do I find that? What do I write about? How do I draw it? I can’t get out in nature anymore (sweet pine trees, man!). I tried to join the Young Professionals group (the entire process is a plug for themselves and how to get more people in the group), I’ve tried to find a good hang out (Olive Garden ain’t what it used to be). Guys, How do I find passion? How to I get back to the point where I feel like I’m living the width of my life?

I actually don’t mean to sound so whiny. I’m hoping that randomly pouring my thoughts out with start to churn up some creativity. So bare with me as I may have to write nonsense for a while. I don’t want to be here, but I’m fine being here for now. I gave up everything I loved for something I loved more and have no regrets. And one day, I’ll look back and say “How did I live without passion?!” But until then. I’ll write and ask questions. So to all the “Dear Abby” people out there. Please advise.

 

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