I'm a bit obsessed with perfection and becoming an idealized version of myself. I tend wish years of my life away as often as I wish that I could start it all over, more perfectly and with 20/20 hindsight, or wake up tomorrow a some else completely. I'm searching for balance and comfort. I'd hate to use the term quarter-life crisis.
I want to read the memoir of someone else's life, and find this confession, "I went through my life not knowing if any of the decisions I'd made were right. I wandered from one option to the next, always a bit in the last, always a bit in the next, always a bit in twenty others. I never knew which path was right, but I still wandered with an illusive, temporary sense of direction. Time quickened and I was forced to prefer some imagined outcomes over others, to choose some directions as rationally desirable. There were fantastic gains, lovely people, remarkable experiences - but where did they lie on the graph of the million outcomes my life could have come to? I pretended I knew, but I never really new. I spent a lifetime playing forty games against each other in my head." It's what you'll find in mine.
