“Beware the barrenness of a busy life. – Socrates

 For years I ran around like a headless chicken trying to fill an insatiable and bottomless pit of empty inside of me.  (Talk about an itch you can’t scratch.) 

 Nothing satisfied me.  Not for long, anyway.  If I managed to accomplish something I had set my mind to, I would immediately start thinking about the next project, the next goal, the next test I needed to complete in order to feel worthy of my life.  I couldn’t sit still.

 I held onto this way of being in the world because I believed that it was non-negotiable (there’s really no such thing) and because I believed that it was somehow a measure of my worth as a human being (if you bail you’re a loser), which made it very important.

 So I worked out strategies to ensure that the non-negotiables and the things that measured my worth were inextricably tied into my life ad infinitum and forever.  This seemed like a reasonable thing to do.

 My itch persisted and grew.

If I could just win this award, then people will see me for who I really am!  If I could just lose five kilograms, people will see that I’m a pretty girl!  If I can be the best in my class, people will finally see me and hear me and respect me!

 Always just out of reach.  Never there.  Always just escaping me and proving (once again) my own lack of worth.  I didn’t reach that goal.  They are right.  I am wrong.

 Happiness was always right around the next corner, and I spent many years chasing it down and trying to club it into submission, but it always got away.  Or I beat it to a pulp.

 The rainbow was always one valley over.

 Not surprisingly, this took its toll.  (It wasn’t a cheap arrangement, let me tell you.)  I was stuck in a self-prophesizing cycle of shame and lack of worth for many years.

In retrospect I like to say it like this:

 I waged full scale war against myself for most of my life and I couldn’t even see it. 

 Finally one day, I looked down and saw that I had scratched myself halfway into oblivion.  I hadn’t been kind to myself, but I really, really wanted to learn to be.

Since I didn’t have a whole lot to lose, I tried to just stop scratching my itch.  Slowly, over time, I deleted all the terrible terms and conditions I had imposed on myself over the years.  I’d created a prison of sorts for myself, I realised when I finally stepped back.

 I stopped chasing things completely.  I simply stopped. 

After a while I had some space in my life, a little bit of room where previously I’d only decorated with wall-to-wall expectation.  I started playing with a couple of things I’ve always loved, but that never really seemed good enough.  I explored some old hobbies.  They put a whole new look on my space.  I started to smile more.  My itch slowly, very slowly, stopped itching.

The more I do things I intrinsically care about, the more I respect myself.  My self-esteem has systematically improved.  I’ve learnt to trust myself, which is critical for self-love.  My choices aren’t anyone else’s, they’re mine.  My life is unique.  I choose.

I never, ever imagined that I could or would enjoy living in a small town.   It was always simply unthinkable to be out of the city, to just drop out, to simply give up.

 I chased a lot of things in my life that I felt were essential.  I chased happiness down many hills and valleys, and never quite managed to tackle it. 

Recently I discovered that something else had settled in me though, something I never even really contemplated, but now that I have it, everything is different. 

For  the first time in my life I am

satisfied.