Here are a few true things:

I am watching a documentary about design and I am thinking to myself, "I am not doing what I really want to be doing."

People ask me, "How are you?" and I am not sure if any fitting words have yet been developed. Language seems inadequate. They say, "What is going on," and I can only seem to say "A lot." These are the only words that seem right. Lots. and Lots. Lots of secret, wordless processes, pins and needles pricking at my heart, swirling around my head.

And so, these two men speak in French about their working relationship in design-- one a porcupine and one a fox-- and I think to myself, I am unhappy because this isn't really what I want.

My brain feels numb and my hands are idle. I am busy all day and what I do matters, but something in me is unfulfilled. Although I am sure I am giving something invaluable in what I do all day long, there is something in me that longs for a deeper meaning. Something in me seems to say, "you've studied too long for this." Part of me feels wasted. Or at least dormant.

So here is a true thing: I am not doing what I want to be doing.
And, so, I am led down the path of these other things: I have to look them in the face.

What is it that I want?
What do I want to do?
Why aren't I doing it?
Is the something keeping me from it out there or in here?
How do I get there?
Is it a matter of steps or some supernatural flight?
Is it a matter of unreadiness, changed values, process, or fear?
Or is it all of these things recombined into the unrecognizeable mess that some refer to as my life?

What is it that I really want?
And why don't I have it?
Am I moving towards it, or am I spinning round, circle after mysterious crop circle?

Some days, I know for sure. Other days I wonder if this is just the fruit of many years on one path, in one rut. I wonder if there is something totally other that I have not yet tried or considered?

Am I moving or am I stuck?
Is this a transition or an excuse?

But the true thing, the words that I need to speak in honesty is that I am unhappy with this life. Discontent. I know there is something so much more for me-- I long for something bigger, so much deeper. I am tired of construction paper circles and watercolor paint boxes. I am tired of filling in other people's bubbles, but the road out feels long and impossible. And I am not sure where it leads nor do I seem to know the name of the city to which I want to travel.

And yet I've resigned to keep walking, surrendering the map and only listening for a word or two about ways and walkings.