A Danish Wedding

Amazing weekend in Denmark, attending Chloe & Casper's wedding, which was in this beautiful old equestrian centre/estate in the countryside, near Aarhus. It was a beautiful wedding, with great friends, amazing food, and copious amounts of alcohol. The perfect weekend, really. And the first time I've left London in 8 months, which is a ridiculous all-time record for me - the longest I've stayed in one place since I was 15, probably.

I've had so many mixed feelings about London, but coming back Sunday night was actually so nice. I love this place. I also hate it, but that's just the emotional tug-a-war of life in this city. It's not easy, but if it were, would we really appreciate it? Appreciate the things that keep us here?

"Who shall I blame for this sweet and heavy trouble, for every stupid struggle, I don't know".

I'm doing some more temp work, tiding myself over, trying to make ends meet, trying to keep afloat. This last month or two has been really rough. I'm still holding onto London, to being here and putting a life together here - for however long - but it's really becoming a battle to stay.

This temp job I'm doing right now is killing my soul, and also, just making it all-too-clear to me that I'm not cut out for office work, for ANY work-just-for-the-paycheck kind of jobs. I've known this my whole life. I've been working since I was 15-years-old, and I've always found 90% of the jobs I've done to be utterly spirit-crushing. For the longest time, I think I assumed that this was something I had to get over, something I had to get used to. It's part of being an adult, doing things you don't want to do. It's part of growing up, waking up early every morning and feeling profoundly sad about the day ahead.

But I know now, that it's not something I'll ever get used to. I'm not built like other people. I think my spirit is more sensitive to these things, because it was designed differently. And so I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that I'll only be happy in life if I'm doing something that is creatively engaging. I need to tell stories, I need to write, I need to make things that are important and interesting and pure, that relate key aspects of the human experience, that somehow, for someone, make the world a better place. I need to believe 100% in the work I do. And the only thing I believe in 100% is storytelling.

I feel like every force in the world is wanting me to settle, wanting me to compromise and limit myself. Life is short. Don't take risks, you may never amount to anything. You may never be a success! But I want to risk everything for a chance of success on my own terms, for a chance to do only what I love. I will never be happy working in any sort of regular job, even if it affords me a posh flat full of Danish furniture and Icelandic electronics and a cellar full of fine French wine.

Maybe I should be thankful that most jobs make me absolutely miserable. It makes it easier not to settle for anything but that 1%. I just need to figure out, somehow, how to begin working towards that place that my soul, every minute of every day, wants to be.

Discipline! Confidence! Hope! Discipline.

May? How is it May?

Battersea Power Station on a spring evening

My entries for the last couple months have been mostly pictorial. I guess I just haven't had the words. I'm going to try and find them again.

Since rock bottom, I've managed to get some job interviews. Nothing yet, but I feel like the momentum I'm gathering is leading towards something. I just need to keep plugging away.

Adela moved back to the States a few weeks ago, which was a brutally hard transition. It felt like a break up. We had spent most of our days together for 8 months, and her presence in my life and flat had become so integral to my sense of grounding and balance. As always, life goes on, but this was the hardest goodbye I've had since Jelena moved back to Sarajevo last summer.

I've more consciously started dating again, as the cynicism and disinterest of winter slowly begins to melt away. But the fact is, that I haven't met a single person since the fall that has even remotely piqued my romantic interest. Everyone bores me, and makes me feel boring at the same time. I'm still hung up on November, I think. There's nothing worse than finally meeting someone who seems amazing, and then watching it fall apart before it even begins. And when nothing else of consequence presents itself, I guess you remain holding onto that idea of promise, of untold potential.

I don't want to be one of those people that pines after someone they barely know. I'm not that person, and I always tell those people to move on, to stop being stupid and sad and to get over it. I just find that whole situation unfortunate though, because it was my eagerness that fucked things up, and killed something before it had the opportunity to get good. I think it could've been really good.

But it wasn't, and it isn't, and I need to keep an open mind and try to have faith that there are still interesting, engaging people in this city that are worth the time and effort. But the last season has reaffirmed that regardless, I'm fine. And I could be fine forever, if that's how the cards are dealt.

So, this is what rock bottom feels like.

London, be good to me.

I'm running out of time, money, hope, and patience. I need a break, and I need it now.

Why did I drink so much and smoke so much?

And we talk about music and literature and the cinema, about people and places, foreign exploits, drug-benders and sexual misadventures. We talk about causes and lifestyles and the future, and about how open-minded we all must be to believe in both nothing and everything. And soon the booze runs out, and the cigs run out, and we go to bed feeling alone, no matter who is in our arms.

Nostalgia

And we remember the days when we believed that we would be happy and successful and in love, and moreover, that happiness, success and love would come quickly and easily, like we were led to believe.