Reorganize. Rinse. Repeat.

I catch myself from time to time thinking about what I'll do when I return to "my real life" back in Denver. It actually sounds that way in my head, "my real life," as if I'm just here in Switzerland taking a short break from living. It's strange thinking about the future as a made up concept. We all plan on and try to control and make assumptions about something that hasn't happened, something that isn't real... this sounds to me like the definition of delusion.

I know we all have dreams and goals, plans for our lives; and these are good to have, important even. But where is the line? When do we cross over into not living presently? When does the future seem more important, or more exciting, than what's happening right now? I guess the answer is somewhere between daydreaming about a life not yet lived, and living tepidly without any ambition or will to move forward.

I fall on this scale somewhere between being fearful of making wrong decisions or failing, and having fleeting existential moments where I appreciate "the NOW" (this choice phrase should always be accompanied by hands swishing in a rainbow motion to imply mystery and wonder). In reality, "the NOW" usually feels like a hyperawareness of bodily occurrences such as hunger, mental chatter, or a bubbling frustration that seems to be caused by my inability to stay in "the NOW".

I've been grappling lately with the widely known and widely practiced art of problem-seeking. Not unlike eating out of boredom, problem-seeking is its own kind of void filler. There's a strange joy that comes from diagnosing personal issues, a contentment similar to checking off a to do list; only you're making the list... "this is what's wrong, and this, and this..." and whether or not you're concerned with finding solutions, you have ownership over the problems, they're all yours, neatly defined and compartmentalized, and they bring a warmth of knowledge about yourself, never mind if you don't like what you find.

My humor, of course, attempts to avoid the conundrum that is general unhappiness, and the theory that I enjoy being unhappy in some strange way. The book I'm reading tells me it's my ego searching for drama, that it feeds on the familiarity of discontent be it fueled by desire or by fear; and, let's face it, there seems to always be an endless supply of fuel.

But I think the real problem isn't that I'm unhappy, it's that I have the potential to be very happy and don't quite know what to do about it. So much time and effort is always put into the next fixer-upper project... "I'll find a job and then I'll be happy, I'll eat better and then I'll be happy, I'll have a plan, I'll move to a different country..." But when you've checked off the to do's on the "happiness" list, the real to do is to just live your life.

I've found a job working as a waitress in an Irish pub. This means I'm a functional, real-life, Swiss citizen; contributing to society, working and paying taxes, and moving up in the world as a semi-independent-adult-like-human. Though I still crave and welcome validation from my family, though I still seek control and order (down to rearranging my shampoo bottles by height and by color), and though I still have little to no idea how to live in each moment, I'm living; and I'm finding there's also joy in choosing not to look for your "problems".