God. Do I gotta struggle with doubt at the start of every semester like this??
I feel like I’ve come into contact with a few very admirable people. But I’m not getting that satisfactory sense of mental nourishment from a group of people yet. I’ve met really cool individuals, but I don’t really get to hang out with them in groups. I’ve complained about this before, but I’m not really sure what I need to do. Maybe I need to stop idealizing groups and accept that I’m a jigsaw puzzle piece that has long lost the box it came from.
Took up the staff position at the club you know? But I’m having doubts again. It won’t really contribute much to my career, but I know I can get personal growth from pushing myself in it. I’ll give it a year. I may be too overwhelmed with schoolwork next year to stay on as staff (though I’d still want to be a member).
I just feel lost sometimes. It seemed like I was making traction in different spheres in my life, but the high that I was feeling at the end of last semester is gone, replaced with insecurity and regressions. I feel unsure about my place and I’m doing my best to have a can-do, yes-to-new-things attitude. Don’t know whether I want to double major (in, say, Rhetoric) or if that creative writing minor is feasible or if I should stay a third year despite the possible financial burden.
And I already bought the books for this Myth and Literature class, but it’s on Celtic, Norse, and Greek myths taught by a medievalist and I’m not that into it (although Greek myths are alright) so far. But I might as well get this required class over with. To be fair, it has only been a week.
What will I even write my senior thesis on?? Which professors are the right people to make my advisors?
Still need to fulfill that AC requirement and take a few other classes for Comp. Lit.
Stoked about that translation workshop, sure. But everything else I just feel anxious about. Feeling depressed, a bit—flavors of lack and emptiness that I can’t quite pin down. Maybe it’s part homesickness, part panic, part awareness of my waning youth, and that paranoia that creeps in and the horrors of corporeality and just not feeling satisfied with myself. Constantly feeling like I should be doing more, accomplishing more, that I’m not doing enough.
Everything is a hunger for something I cannot name or maybe something many-named.
