Two years ago the sun was shining and buttercups rippled across the field I could see from my window. I could watch the sun rise, and set, and then rise again, throwing its magnificent morning rays over the world, through a film of atmospheric cloud. There were no buildings to start and stop the process, and watching that orb climb slowly up the horizon was a bliss I could never miss.
Hazy mornings turned into stunning afternoons, every colour highlighted and illuminated by the bright summer sun.
I was not happy then, even though I had everything I’d dreamed of growing up in an Arabian desert. I dreamed of blue skies to replace my dusty brown ones. I dreamed of vivid greens and the smell of freshly cut grass, to replace my fake grass and the dismal beige weeds that decorated the sand sparsely. I was not happy, though.
And I ate my feelings.
I am not happy now, either.
I just can’t seem to find a good balance in life.
Back then I had no car and no job and was stuck in the middle of nowhere with no neighbours and and no way of getting away unless I spent a fortune on bus fares, which I couldn’t afford because I had no job.
Now I have a job but I have to travel away from home to go to it and it is causing a raucous in my family life.
I suppose it is in the human nature to always want more and never be satisfied with what they have.
I suppose it is also a matter of finding balance. And being content, and making reasonable decisions.
Also there is an element of faith here. Maybe my faith is weak at the moment. In fact, I know it is. And that is why I feel so lost and discontent.