by Natalie Robin

So I have been living in San Francisco for a little under 2 months now and I am already feeling disillusioned with it. It is not an unfortunate city by any means, but rather I am an unfortunate girl who knows no cure for the disease of insatiability. I cannot understand the trend of settling. I do not understand how it satisfies people to stay in one place–and I am not saying they are wrong to do it–but that the complacency in doing so is foreign to me. I can only walk to the same place in the morning for coffee so many times, I can only ride the same train to the same post office so many times, I can only shop for the same food at the same grocery store so many times. I am not a thrill-seeker by any means, but on the variant scale that makes up emotional necessity, I need something other than the same drill to be happy.

Perhaps either in a past life or in this life, I was born with the spirit of a vagabond. Besides all the aforementioned, what lends most sincerely to this possibility is that I do not aim to be attached and the prospect does not excite me. Sometimes I feel obligated to attend to other people’s need for social engagement, and sometimes I feel like I should simply because it’s the “normal” thing to do. I have wrestled with my social anemia for a long time and always believed it to be these multifaceted phases of self-reflection that I would slowly materialize from as I figured out who exactly I am, but now HERE I AM–more comfortable with this person than ever and yet have managed to stay a jungle of roots from which no flower grows, not from lack of maturation so much as a persistent refusal to bare my most colorful capabilities.

Though despite this unyielding recluse I have become, part of me thinks that maybe I am bored because I am missing out on people..because if my main gripe is in fact, tedium, nothing is as lively and unpredictable as a human being.