a change addict

I cannot stay in one place. I don’t know if I have a commitment phobia or if my adhesive has become unstuck, but I cannot get myself to be sedentary.

I moved to New York and was out within three months. I always knew I wanted to move around in my 20s but man, that must be some new record.

I’m addicted to change. I never thought I liked it or that I was any good at adapting, but I can’t stop. It’s like my life has to be a broken treadmill, never slowing down nor coming to a halt. I literally just bought a house in order to make myself stay somewhere. I know, my logic is questionable.

Why is it that we cannot stop? We cannot rest and take in the pretty smells around us? Is it just an American thing? Is it just a me thing? Why is everyone else so good at being in one place for longer than six months?

My attempts to figure everything out are laughable; I keep falling flat on my face while those around me witness the slow decline of my belongings that are lost in the constant state of moving. I have spent hundreds on shipping boxes and purchasing new room additions, only to turn around and give them away as I rush to get out of the next apartment.

I think I thought what I wanted was the dreamy lifestyle of a jetsetter; one who never conforms and is able to see the world. I’ve slowly realized that I want comfort, I want silence and a change of pace. I want simplicity.

Maybe a global pandemic is what it took to slow me down, to show me that not even I can avoid the effects of an infectious disease. For now, I’ll continue renovating my new home and getting adjusted to my new job and cute office.

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