I guess I just awoke from a somewhat moderate form of depression. I say moderate because I didn't have fantasies of jumping off buildings, in essence I was not obsessed with my death as many depressed people are. I was just in a fog. My head was foggy. I didn't want to write, or move on with my life.
I write stories for a living, but it seems now that the story is writing me. Something has changed in my forecast, I have decided to try out moving to India for a while. This is drastic, this woke me up.
What the hell am I going to do in India? I'm not doing that Eat, Pray, Love thing. Although I did love that book, I'm going to India not to find myself, I want India to find me. I want India to find me as a great teacher, someone who works in some form of charity.
I have no idea why, but I have no interest in working in charitable organizations in America. But I do want to in India. Maybe it seems exotic, the way people are oppressed there. Maybe I won't care for them as I seem not to care here. Well it's not that I don't care, it just seems that I haven't found my 'place' here in America.
This will not be good unless I deeply understand that it could be the worse thing I'm doing to my life. But they say without risk there is no reward. They say a lot of things though.
I'm an Indian, but really I'm an American. But really I don't know I feel like something is missing in my world. Maybe something spiritual. Maybe something real, like seeing people who have nothing, seeing them smile.
Or maybe they need to see me smile.
I need to see myself smile. I need something greater than myself to live for. I need to know that it's OK that I'm different, different than Americans, different than Indians. That I am even different than myself.
I think the worse that could happen is that I experience beauty of some alien sort and find that it isn't for me. But if by chance I happen to find some real beauty inside me instead, it will be worth it.
This is not a commercial. I am worth it.