Dark Places

I moved to Boston – at least short term. It still sounds a lot more cavalier than it is, so try this instead: take out moved to, insert something like ended up in, and it might hold more merit because I came here out of a fortuitous situation and free will – a leap into the dark, I suppose – and now that I am here, a pivotal question enters my mind: what am I looking for? It's a pretty heavy question, certainly one I can't answer as readily or confidently as someone dragged here for school or for work. And that's the difference: purpose. I think people move to be closer to what is important to them, but for me it feels backwards: move first and find importance in that process. I write this because, after four days, I'm starting to realize all that I had – great family, friends, comfort, a routine – and I am starting to worry that I unintentionally ran away from that. It's twisted, confusing.

The city has been somewhat bipolar, too, as temperatures hover slightly above freezing one day (prime sweater weather) and traverse over 50°F (tee-shirt weather) the next, but above all there's always a peculiar dark grey sky overhead, casually puking raindrops here and there (only when I decide to venture into another unknown territory, of course). And I guess I could draw a link between the threatening sky and myself: on the surface I am calm and I am eager to explore, but underneath I am spiraling. I don't know how else to explain it: bundles of nerves deep in my abdomen oscillate vigorously, waiting to explode with breakdown.