I don't really know how to process my current emotions. I seem to be at a loss for words, and I suspect it's a combination of lingering depression, recent painful realizations, covid burnout, holiday stress, and just everything existing under a shadow of overwhelming "blah."
I used to have dreams. Unique to me. But now... now my siblings are living out those dreams, and I'm not sure how to feel about it. I have expressed nothing but joy at their successes, and pride in light of their accomplishments. But I also feel incredibly sad, disappointed in myself, and that pang of grief over the loss of careers I dreamed of and couldn't maintain. I feel overwhelmingly guilty that I don't feel only the joy and pride for them. That I'm sulking internally that they both took on major portions of some pretty significant dreams of mine.
So I feel a little... off. I'm not sure where to put this.
A couple weeks ago, I watched an IG blurb from Glennon Doyle where she answered the question "how do I know if I'm a writer?" She talked about her first AA Meeting, and someone asking a similar question. "How do I know I'm an alcoholic?" Glennon looked around that church basement and thought "you're at an AA meeting, how much more validation do you need?" She applied the same thought to being a writer. "If you're writing, you're a writer..."
After I watched her speak, I looked over my blog and shook my head. I'm not a writer. I thought maybe I could be, and blamed not having a proper laptop on my lack of blog posts. Then I got one and still wasn't writing... so... I'm not a writer. I'm not a lot of things anymore. I'm not a massage therapist. I'm not an artist. I'm not a horseback rider. I'm not a small business owner. I'm not any of the things I dreamed I wanted to be. I'm 40, and I no longer know what I want to be when I grow up.
I don't know what to do next.
