The Barcelona Blues

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The burrata, the olives with cava, the walks after every cheese-loaded meal. When I look at photos of the time spent in Barcelona, it already feels like centuries ago. I don’t necessarily miss the city itself but I miss the wonder that came with being in an environment that was always feeding my curiosity, my drive, and my passion to learn. It feels like it was a memory of another lifetime because I feel the person I was there is not the person I am here in Beirut. But that’s the point of travel, no?

My motivation to keep pushing back at this “repatriation frustration”, to keep digging for the gold in a mine full of pyrite, to stick to the reason why I have this blog at all – that motivation is dissipating. They tell me this too shall pass. That’s what I am told by all those who’ve returned, but also by the ones that are still far, far away. They say that it’s temporary and you get over it once you find your rhythm again.

How depressing is that? That this fire will die down and you become complacent with the status quo, jaded with the gnawing annoyance in your gut, and eventually go back to going with the excuse of “This is Lebanon” while you kick back another G&T. Instead, the thought pisses me off more. I try to push through. I am trying to push through.

The main lesson I learned there (outside of my internship) was to channel my energy. Removing myself from Beirut showed me how much of my own fuel was being depleted because I was being too ambitious, driving myself into the ground because it was easier to do it all than to deal with figuring out one path to stick to. My generation has a hard time turning down opportunities. We don’t know how to say no because we feel like we have to be able to do everything at all times and our smartphone addiction makes the illusion that we can all the more convincing.

But it’s no fun being a scatterbrained basket-case who’s incessantly spread way too thin on a low fat quinoa cracker. Can I sit here and have a slice of cake for 5 minutes without thinking about how I’m going to buy a house before I’m 40/how much time will this need on the treadmill/did I confirm that Amazon order/did I get that quotation approved/what ever happened to Billy Idol/I should tweet that/how many days left before I have to submit that presentation?

So. Much. Wasted. Energy.

It’s time to let 2016 be the year of realizing stuff* and realize that I need to focus on investing my time only in what matters and makes me happy.

What’s taking up most of my sanity now: trying to fall in love with Beirut all over again.

*Just in case it wasn’t obvious, I am sarcastically using Kylie as an inspiration for this. I’m 89% sure she will be naming her first child Kale.

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