A Letter to Maia

Maia,

I am at home now, and I am reluctant to say that I will be living in my parent’s house for the next month. It has been difficult adjusting to life here in the suburbs. Everything feels less vibrant, less alive. Time moves more slowly, making hours stretch into days, and days into weeks. I am tired more often, and feel further away from people.

An old picture of the view from Maia’s balcony.

Money is becoming more of a reality everyday. I had to tell my parents the other night that I’ll be working minimum wage jobs for some time while attempting to establish myself as a writer. They didn’t like that much.

I still plan to travel to the west. It seems nice out there. I think I will enjoy being on the coast. I will be very poor, but I also think it’s about time I take that plunge. I’m ready to leave home forever. I will, of course, visit from time to time, but I will never live here again. Never.

I’ve been realizing that I don’t need nor desire much comfort to be happy. I’d like to have a roof over my head and a little something to eat. Television, couches, carpets, air conditioning, these are all nice things, but they function simply to dull the blade of life.

I have been feeling restless, as my uncertainty no longer has an outlet. I may write, but if I am not traveling, if I am not experiencing, then it seems it’s all for nothing. Life has grown static, my energy has grown idle, and everyday I feel a deepening urge to escape.

Perhaps there will be a day in the future, maybe even the near future, where I’ll feel more solid in who I am. A time where I’ll wake in the morning and know I’m following the right path. But for now, all I have is my uncertainty and the strange energy that seems to be driving it. The suburbs are a wall looking to block that energy from expressing its chaos.

This is no life for me.

I hope you’re well.

Daniel

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