I’ve always found it difficult sticking or even setting new yeas resolutions. I had a bit of a plan at the beginning of the year; you know, the fitness-related-weightloss-get-your-shit-together type of things, so far it hasn’t worked out for me. Apparently a new year means a fresh start, at least that’s what we’re told. We all head into it with motivation and readiness but in the grand scheme of things, I think these expectations are putting more and more unnecessary pressure on ourselves. Anyway, after a year abroad and a relaxed Christmas at home, I’ve made it known to myself and anyone who takes notice of this blog that I’m currently struggling more than ever to find my purpose.
I don’t know who or what I want to be. I recently published a diary entry over on here last week: you can read that here – so the fact that I’m completely and utterly lost right now most likely won’t be a surprise to anyone who reads my content. But bare with me.
I turn 24 in June, by now I thought I’d have my shit together; how wrong was I. Seeing people my age, whether it being close friends, family or my partner doing so well, I find it difficult to comprehend that I’m still stuck in a bubble I simply cannot burst and haven’t been able to since I was around eighteen.