Lately, I've been feeling like my life lives me, rather than the other way around.  I feel, overwhelmingly, like I'm the proverbial cork on a turbulent sea, battered by massive, roiling waves, completely lacking control over which way I'm tossed and thrown.  

I don't love it.

I look at the people I envy, the people I wish I could be like.  I admire their self possession, how it transmits through every aspect of themselves.  Every piece of clothing is absolutely them, their food, the books they read, the music the like...it has all been selected and considered.  Even their paths, if they're meandering and completely bizarre, there is always this element of intention which lends an air of meaning to even the most frivolous behavior. 

There's an element of laziness that prevents me from acquiring this apparent intent.  I used to, for example, comb through the music stores on payday, flipping through CDs, looking for that one Aerosmith album I hadn't found yet (I know, I know...but it was like, seventh grade.  Gimme a break).   I used to do things in my free time.  Now, I come home, muster up some energy to take the dog for a walk, and pass out until bed time.  It's like I spend so much time merely surviving that I can't spare the energy to live.  

What an awful thing, and how many of us are there?  

So I'm trying, starting this week, to devote time to the things I used to love to do. No more plopping down in front of the toob for umpteen hours a day, allowing the last bit of creativity and passion to be slowly sucked out through my eyeballs.  I'm going to find another job by the end of the summer that will pay me to at least kind of  do something I care about, even if it's writing ridiculous medical pamphlets.   At the very least, I'll have enough money to only work one job so I can have the time to start putting stuff together for grad school. 

It's an odd thing, remolding yourself at thirty.  But it's kind of exciting, at the same time.  This is not about living up to some model of What I'm Supposed To Be--there's no groupthink to dictate my behavior or my look, there's no reading list.  It's just, up until now, remembering the things that make me happy, that make me feel empowered, that give me energy instead of use it up.  These are things that I've found, and some of them are fine with other people, some of them piss them off, but the point is it doesn't matter.  I've wasted too much time already, and it's time to go.