1AM is pasta time

If you haven’t already read my short and sweet introduction yet, I’d like to debrief you on how I stumbled upon deciding to create a WordPress account.

I’ve always been drawn to writing as a form of expression. The only person I’ve ever really wanted to share anything with whenever I was frustrated, or upset, or angry, or even happy has always been my sister. However, on the off chance that I don’t want to share my feelings with her, I’ve always turned to writing because I strongly value my alone time and I prefer to be by myself, with my own thoughts. Perhaps that’s a dangerous thing, but it has always worked for me in the past.

This manifested into another form of expression which has become extremely significant to me: Running.

As a long-distance runner, I get the self-satisfaction of taking all of the irrational, lingering thoughts that are in my head and just letting them dissipate because sometimes, being too much in your head is not a good thing. These thoughts have to be released somehow. For me, that would either have to be on paper or distance through miles. Either way, I am somehow able to calm myself down.

The catalyst that sparked this random inspiration to publicize my thoughts tonight came from one simple act of cooking pasta to bring for lunch tomorrow at work.

I was standing in front of my stove, stirring my boiling pot of whole wheat pasta when one simple thought came to my mind; This is my life.

I live in New York City. I am a college graduate. I am independent from my parents. I have a job at an amazing Publishing Company which houses a magazine title that I idolized as a high school runner.

What am I missing?

This is the question that I’ve been asking myself for my entire life.

I can safely say that I haven’t had a rough childhood in the slightest. I was blessed with a great family; two loving, supportive parents and a sister who happens to be my best friend. I received a great education throughout my entire youth. I have great friends.

What am I missing?

Living in a city of insurmountable opportunity, filled with millions of people, how could anyone possibly feel certainly alone?

Life here moves so fast and it’s a type of life that I have pictured myself living, but now that I’m in it, I almost don’t know how to live it.

I run, I write, what more is there for me?

I know I just got here, but I feel like there’s so much more waiting for me.

1AM is pasta time. 1AM is also inspiration time, apparently.

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