Restless Legs

For me, writing is like therapy. 

It's usually fun, but sometimes it's not. I commit to 4 days a week (a habit formed from an actual English assignment in college, years ago). Sometimes it's easy breezy, the words flowing too fast to type. Sometimes it's challenging to get my story out the way I want, stumbling over my thoughts. Sometimes the outcome is funny, and other times I find what I need to say is painful.......but I do it anyway, purge it from my brain. Turns out, that teacher knew what he was doing. I find that even though a sense of satisfaction comes from writing for an audience (hoping someone can find a way to relate or be inspired), a deeper sense of pleasure is fulfilled when I read back on my writings of times past and see my personal growth, challenges I've overcome, surprise myself with something clever I've long forgotten about, reminisce about exciting things I've done. 

Lately I've been feeling anxious. Ants in my pants. Gotta move. Must expand. 

Maybe it's because I just recently went on vacation to a place I've always thought I'd move to one day. Maybe it's because I spent an hour looking at my favorite pictures, trying to decide on which ones to use for my new fancy banner and 99% of the ones I wanted to pick had something to do with the mountains or the ocean (and I only get to see either of those things a couple of times a year). Maybe it's because I've never, as a grown adult, stayed in one spot for longer than a year or two.....and here I am going on my 3rd year in the same place. Maybe it's because Patrick and I have been unsuccessfully trying to expand a part of our lives for the last two years, probably marking the first time I've never been able to control the amount of success I want to achieve, and I'd rather create a diversion in our lives by completely changing everything again.
There's this terrible thing that happens to me at night when I'm exhausted, RLS. I literally cannot be still. My legs develop a mind of their own and if I don't kick and squirm, I feel like I'm going to combust. It seems there are times in my life when this syndrome tries to creep into other aspects of my world.

(source)

In a life filled with so many "sometimes" and "maybe's", there's a few things I know for sure. I love my husband, who will always make wherever I live, however temporary or permanent it may be, feel like home. I hate schedules and politics. The thought of complete routine feels suffocating. No matter how things have evolved, I still can't shake the feeling of restlessness. I find comfort in unknown territories, a place I can stretch out my legs and learn new ropes, something most people try to avoid in life. I know myself, and know what I want..........but are the things I want too selfish? 

I really have no idea how to cure this "syndrome" that possess me, but at least I have an outlet. I think everyone should give it {writing} a try.....you know....for therapy.

Do you ever feel restless in your life? What do you do for therapy?