No one wants a happy ending.

I've heard this somewhere before, probably a movie, maybe in theatre class, I would credit it properly if I could remember the source.

My life right now is filled with happy, I could tell you about all the good in my life right now, but you wouldn't want to read it, (with exception of my family of course, that's given). But in writing, happiness doesn't sell. You know what sells? Sex, murder, and betrayal. No one wants to read about how I love my job, (I do). They don't care that I really love the city I live in, (it is so beautiful here). They want to hear about drama, pit falls and the life of a soul lost, just like them, in this wild and crazy world. The occasional rising up against an oppressor, a long lost love now found, or even a minor triumph, is okay as long as it is surrounded by the dark depressing stuff. I want my life to be perfect, to be happy, to be full of hope. And it is, but it isn't.

I guess it's time to admit that the grass isn't any greener in Boston. Life is green, certainly, and for the most part, I'm very happy with what I've been dealt. However, even the greenest lawn has a brown patch, or fire ants lurking in it. Sometimes, green fields have snakes that slither through it, looking for prey, or just something to chew on. I've stepped in my fair share of ant hills, and encountered a snake or two on my new lawn.

I'm sure you want to hear all about why my life isn't perfect right now. It's just that I'm not ready to admit it. I don't want to admit it. I want this move to a city so far from my home, from my friends and family to be perfect, to be the right thing. It could be right for me, maybe it's just life's plan for where I should be.

I guess I can admit this much, hopefully it will help me:
My job is awesome, but has it's downsides.
Boston is beautiful, but sometimes it's really cold and the weather isn't always perfect.
I like the people I've met so far, but I haven't really had the opportunity to fully connect.
I feel alone sometimes, a lot of the times; I miss my friends, I miss my family.
I sometimes worry that I won't find someone to share my life with. Then I worry even more that I'll be like a lot of the women in my family, and feel like I have to settle on someone who just isn't good enough for me.
I am often bored, because when I'm not working and done with school, I have very few things I can occupy my time with.
I am confused, not about everything just about somethings.
I worry that I'll lose sight of my goals and dreams. I worry that I won't accomplish the things that I really want. I worry that I will become distracted by relationships with men. I worry that my desire to make other people happy, will keep me from pursuing my own goals.
I worry that I am making mistakes.
I hate feeling like I'm a bench warmer, or like I'm second string.

I'm not sure if this helped at all but I do know this is true:
I feel better knowing that there other people, in the world, that have the same fears.
I feel better knowing that there is some level balance in the world. When bad things happen, good things sometimes come from it. When people do wrong, sometimes justice is served.
I feel better knowing that I could have written this at a Borders in Podunk, Ga, before or after searching for jobs. Instead, I write this at my desk in my room in Watertown, Ma.
I feel better knowing that I don't live with my parents anymore (no offense guys, I appreciate all that you've done for me, but we aren't good roommates).
I feel better knowing that when I walked into Boston Commons for the first time 10 years ago, and decided that I belong here, I ended up finding a way here.
I am excited to see what sort of relationships develop between myself and the people, I've met. Like I said they're cool, it just takes time. 

I guess in some ways life is bitter sweet, and maybe that's just how it's supposed to be. So perhaps in its own right, life is perfect. Maybe what is perfect for me, and what I want aren't the same things.