quarterlife crisis

It's three to four on a random Saturday afternoon in the town unfortunately named after a prince, not a colour or a fruit.

I'm faced with the brutally harsh question - what the hell am I doing here?

It's not a slur on the town itself, it has charming roundabouts, the coldest winters and some nice people.

The heres and nows just don't seem right. I should be somewhere else doing something different.

But the somewhere and the something are a mystery.

There's a deep seated feeling of a lack of kinship, or to turn that around I am incredibly lonely.

It was a huge decision to come here over a year ago. I almost felt compelled to do it. It being the overcoming of fears, proving a point that I could make it.

And make it I did. Point proven.

But now I deal with the insecurities involed in deciding where the story goes from here.

I am shit scared.

More specifically, I'm shit scared I'm not good enough to get out of here.

Perhaps that's a product of being knocked about a bit and having what precious little ego I had deeply bruised one time too many.

And if I did go onto to that something somewhere different, will it necessarily be the something somewhere different that's required?

I feel like I don't know enough about myself to make such informed choices.

Making the journey alone and having the responsibility lie wholly and solely on me is the scariest part of all.