stretch it.

Contentedness. It’s such a strange thing and a scary thing. Dangerous.

I’m content with my life right now as a teacher. I wake up in the morning, I spend my days trying to impart not just general Texas General Knowledge (good lord!) on my 50+ fourth graders, but imparting some sort of desire to know… desire to strive… to reach… to follow dreams. Then I come home to my cats (which basically guarantee I’ll never date again, plan for the next day, create things, read good books, and watch ridiculous shows on Netflix, like Doctor Who.

I cook delicious food for myself and I go on explorations. I have some exciting travel plans and I’m driving cross country on a bi-annual basis (sorry environment. sorry planet). I have amazing friends who remind me that I need to spend time with adults and I need to go out and have fun.

I’m calm. I’m contented. I feel mildly successful.

It’s scary. Will I continue to strive? Will I stay in my funky, non-Texas like, apartment for years to come.

Sure, there’s some things that are lacking. My heart aches for companionship. For that coffee drinking, creative, environmental focused, thoughtful man to enjoy spending time with me and exploring our neighborhood and the world. Yes, I want to increase my educational background… I have a desire to pursue art history or some sort of creative avenue. I want to reach out and pull myself up.

I do that every day though. I’m constantly challenged by different events and somedays I feel so defeated. The magic is when I wake up I have a real reason to keep going.

So, I’m in Texas. I’m exploring the world and life. I have no idea where I’m going. I have no idea what I’m looking for completely. I have no idea what I will find. I just know that for right now, I’m happy.