Having initially, falsely, thought that I was near another moment of self-destruction, I came to my senses. Call it a revelation. I do not lack a desire to enjoy the life I lead. Nor do I want to turn this train to a set of different tracks. That isn't the problem. Instead, I feel like I have been walking on the wrong side of the aforementioned tracks.
Funny what being on the road for three weeks can do. Apparently you learn more about living and what you truly need by sitting in a hotel room by yourself, unable to sleep. My job had given me nothing new to think about, and the fact that my heart wouldn't slow down long enough to catch a sleep break was by no means due to any real life antics. I know you, the reader, might be amazed by this, but this scenario owed nothing to the thrills (particularly the lack thereof) that only Salt Lake City can provide.
The last few weeks have taught me several things. A late night talk with one of my most trusted friends taught me that no one is ever sure about exactly what they want in life. Waking up the next morning, feeling exhausted from walking around downtown post a night of random bar hopping (including a round at a divy biker bar on the east side), I came to a realization: if I can't be sure about what I want, I'm sure as hell going to enjoy every day. I was literally bored out of my mind, and I was sick of it.
I took the next day by the balls. I handed my fate into the hands of another person as I plummeted to the ground from 13000 feet in the air. I drove around suburban Portland at breakneck speeds. I went out and I truly lived. And, dammit, it felt good.
Lack of sleep or not, I think I am finally waking up.