Well. I'm back home. Life is the same. I weigh exactly what I did in eighth grade. My eyes are still blue, my hair is still honeybrown. The outside is just the same. What's changed? Me. Everything. I am stronger, wiser, more compassionate than I had ever hoped to become. Still... I feel empty. A vague longing that keeps me up at night, not because I am sad, but because I cannot pin down what it is that I am missing. Something big.

I have everything. I have friends and a wonderful family. I have hope for my life, my future. I believe in the goodness of the world and of people who live here. I see potential for amazing things to come. I am athletic and can accomplish any physical endeavor I set for myself. I play and create music that fills my heart with light.

I have heard that happiness is a choice. I choose to be happy, and I am. I don't feel sorry for myself. What now?

There has to be something worthwhile to pursue. Happiness is a great gift, but it is like a piece of paper found on a scavenger hunt- it is only one more clue along the way to Something at the end of the race. Is it really to be sought after any more ardently than self-motivation or wisdom or charity or strength? It is not the answer. Finding happiness is NOT the answer. 

So what is the answer?

Lavender smells like antique shops and chamomile smells like moldy socks...

Why do weird smells give me peaceful dreams? They're antique shops and moldy socks sort of dreams, but peaceful nonetheless. Whatever works.

I drove to Arlington, but the DynoRock was closed... I wish it had been on their website that they would be closed today. Yes, I should've known. It is a holiday.

I miss the guys at Hueco Tanks. Too bad that they're gone... I think I'm moving soon. Got sand in my shoes! (that sounds like something an old person would say... sort of goes with the aforementioned musty smells, though)

Can we speak of things that I mentioned in parentheses? Because speaking of things that old people say... People keep telling me that Sylvia is an old person name... Except for people who look to be about eighty. They say "I love your name! That was my aunt's name."... That makes it worse.. I want to start going by "Evie" again. Then I won't feel compelled to put on a bonnet, start wearing my hair in a bun, or carry knitting needles everywhere. Meep. Really, I love my name. I think it sounds beautifully dignified. Why does it remind every one else of Oldness??