November 18

I have a crazy addiction to suffering.
Strange, right??
I thought this was how it was for everyone; that everybody became alive while standing in the middle of pain, brokenness, poverty, and simplicity.
I have 20+ pictures hanging in my bedroom proving that I am clinging to a simpler place. Before going to Nepal, I remember writing, "I don't think myself here would even recognize the person I am when I am standing in the streets of Kathmandu." I'm alive, inspired.
Here's the best part:
I just realized I am alive here in America too.
I often think that living in a place this technologically advanced, this materialistic will be the death of me.
But as I was thinking my disorganized thoughts in the car the other day,
I thought:
I should just indulge in this suffering, the suffering of being away from them. And the suffering of being in a country that doesn't make sense to me, being in a place where I almost always feel I don't belong.
It's not as morbid as it sounds. It's a beautiful struggle, it's being in a place of dissatisfaction. I hate apathy and in order for me to survive, I must have something to fight for, something to be passionate about.
This doesn't make any sense at all, does it??