In my head

Sometimes it frustrates me how ordinary my life feels. There are so many cities I want to live in. So many professions I would love to learn. I want to speak every language, travel every country, read every book.

When I think about who I could be, countless versions of myself come to mind. An artist who works until midnight, smokes cigarettes, and wears oversized, brightly checkered shirts with knee-high socks. Someone who drinks black coffee in the morning and eats paella in the evening, just before creativity takes over her mind. I would see my friends often; they would be just as creative as I am, or they would envy me for it.

But I could also be a successful career woman. Someone who takes unconventional paths and makes them work. An entrepreneur who dedicates her life to her job. I could study something with numbers and facts, something rational and logical. It would require getting up early every morning, around six, to reach my ambitious goals. Discipline and balance would be essential values—no creativity, no dreamy days in sight.

I could also leave everything I know behind and start over somewhere entirely new. I could meet people I will never meet—at least not if I stay here forever. Maybe, right now, the love of my life is crossing paths with someone else simply because I didn’t dare to leave.

Life has so many possible endings. So many things I want to experience. So many people I want to be. I want to be an actress and a singer. I want to live a simple life in the countryside and have children who don’t know what it’s like to grow up in a big city. I want to drown in the anonymity of a city while still being the main character. I want out of the ordinary life I’m living.

And yet I realize that everything becomes ordinary once it turns into the only reality.

So much is tempting because it floats somewhere between endless possibilities and opportunities. Because it is vague and exciting simply because I don’t yet know where it will lead me. As long as something remains a future vision, it holds infinite endings. Before it happens, I can imagine meeting the love of my life at a new job or finally receiving the respect I lacked before. I can hope it will throw me into an adventure, fulfill me, give my life meaning.

But once that path becomes reality, disappointment can hit hard. Suddenly I realize that all my colleagues are either married or bald. That respect is scarce in every company, the break room exists mainly for gossip, and there is always at least one truly awful person on the team. The grass is always greener on the other side. And even when I try to escape my ordinary life, dissatisfaction itself becomes a habit.

I find the fear of breaking out of a conventional life particularly fascinating. Because in that moment, I think: this must be exactly how all the previous rule-breakers felt. With all their doubts and fears. If it were easy, it would have become ordinary a long time ago. It has to be hard. It has to require courage.

You only live once. Maybe not even for very long. What do you want to do? How do you want to use your time?

It feels like having to ration your food without knowing how long it has to last. If I were sitting at a table filled with an enormous feast and was told to divide it wisely, everything would depend on how long it needed to last. If it had to last a week, I would portion it carefully—neatly separating protein, carbohydrates, and indulgence. I would probably eat the indulgence, the chocolate pudding, too quickly because of my lack of discipline. But at least I would intend not to.

If it only had to last for a single meal, though, I would dive in. I would eat everything. Enjoy it without thinking.

This isn’t about a table set with food. It’s about how I manage my resources – the resources of my life. They consist of different pillars: hobbies, friendships, work, personal growth – everything we strive for. I want to have all of them under control. Every pillar should be stable. But they sway, because I want so much.

So I have to choose: do I want to be an artist? A career woman? Or continue working my office job?

The answer is: I want all of it.

I just don’t want to feel ordinary in what I do. I want to be extraordinary.

And yet, in the end – or maybe already at the beginning –everything becomes routine.