Changes.

There is such a strange, unsettling feeling that accompanies happiness.
For one who has spent their life scrambling for this intangible idea, you’d think I’d be more settled when I achieve it.
My mind still races when I put my head down at night. Just as badly as before.

My job. This joy is cyclical – infecting all else. I am completely enthralled with this idea of doing something you love and having fun doing it.
We laugh. We wear jeans. We embody that Mad Men idea of ad agencies… without all the cigarettes.
I escaped the corporate hell that has been the fate of many of my friends.  
Endless, meaningless meetings, pointless hierarchy, and a stiff depression that could only be wearing khakis and a muted cardigan.

I saved myself from a fate worse than death. Cubicles and conference calls.

Love. It changes and grows as we do. My dreams haven’t stopped. Nightly reminders of high altitudes and love poems.
There’s a certain air of practicality in forever. And I want that infused with excitement. I am settling into it, however. Understanding that life cannot always be the story we wrote for ourselves years ago.  It can be good though, and comforting. And warm.

I think I do too much these days. With a demanding job and life. I don’t want to compromise the joy I find in searching for vintage treasures, cleaning them up, and selling them – spreading the joy.
Or do I scale back the photography gigs I’ve been getting hired for lately? I feel like as soon as I sit down, inertia takes over and I can’t get back up.
I’ve been so tired. I’ve been. So tired.

Maybe spring will give me the energy to continue. I sure hope it does.