More often than not, I am afraid I will never be happy, and it’s not in that agonizing, Nicholas Sparks movie watching teenager kind of way, it’s more like nothing ever seems to be good enough for me. Which is ironic because I rarely feel like I’m ever good enough for anything. Don’t get me wrong, I have felt pure, uninhibited joy and genuine fulfillment, but it never seems to last, and that scares the crap out of me. I chase things I love relentlessly, I take chances, I like to think I know myself thoroughly, but the emptiness finds me every time. I get bored too easily. I am rarely ever here, fully. I am always considering other options, painting my life in different circumstances and routines and places and people, and none of them are the right shade of contentment. Maybe to be human is to be always wanting and wanting and wanting. Maybe my need is meant to be insatiable. Maybe that is just the way we survive.