Walking around with me.

I had a moment on new year’s eve where I thought, “I just can’t do this anymore.”

And then I had a running monologue about how “this always happens” and “I always think I can do this and I fail” and “I don’t know why I even try if it never takes me to a place that feels healthy.” and then I just kept chugging along.

I know my motto is always “practice” but still, I get caught up in the perfectionism of it all. In the instant gratification. Hell, in the wish of two months being long enough to feel productive and constructive and successful.

But the honest truth is, I just don’t.

I mean, sometimes I do. But for the most-of-the-time big picture, I don’t feel productive, constructive or successful. I feel like I’m treading water and drowning and floating and waiting and buoying and treading and drowning and floating. And I’m not dead, so by default: woohoo, success. But, by like, a standard of measures I’d prefer to use? It doesn’t often feel like much.

I don’t want to feel like my day’s goal is complete just because I stick to an arbitrary eating window of noon to 7pm. I mean, there are aspects of that that are important right now, but I can clock in/clock out with it and it doesn’t feel like…purpose.

I want to find purpose. I have decent weekly goals and I attain a decent amount of them, but they don’t excite me. I want to attain a goal and be like “I worked my ass off for that and I completed it and it’s behind me and I’m a fucking rockstar.”

I just…I have no idea what that is…