Satisfied.

I'm starting week 3 of unemployment. And as I begin this gorgeous Monday morning, I'm starting to realize just how satisfied I am with my life now. The sun is shining, there's a slight breeze and before it reaches an ungodly temperature this afternoon, I can sit and enjoy reading on my porch.

There are few things that really make me happy like a pretty day. When I worked in the newsroom, I didn't get enough of them. There are no windows in the newsroom, I never know if it's sunny, raining or sometimes, we'd look out at our tower cameras and find it was-- much to our surprise-- snowing. I've spent the past 5 years of my life like that. And now, there's a tremendous satisfaction in knowing that I'm free.

Granted, Matt still wants me to get a job. And really, I need a job. I abandoned my promising career in search of something greater... I still have no idea what that something is, but from this view, on my porch, I know it does not include serving a life sentence in a newsroom.

I did interview at Operation Christmas Child last week. For 2 hours and 15 minutes I sat and talked with a guy named Chris. It was a great conversation and great interview. If I don't get the job, at least I can say it was a positive experience... one that I've not had often since it was only my 2nd ever interview after college... I'll hear from them this week.

I am now a part of the public relations committee for Habitat for Humanity York County. The committee is just getting re-started. I created a press release last night for HFHYC and got an immense feeling of satisfaction in crafting something as simple as a release.

I just want to become a writer. I'm not asking for fame-- just enough money to get by... guess I'd better get at it... because what better way to start than with a beautiful day and a breeze.

I used to write.

I used to write for fun. I used to write to purge all the thoughts from my brain. I used to write to be happy and content.

Then I started writing for a living, and everything changed.

I can't remember when I stopped writing. But I know I've been far too busy with life to do it in the past few years, and it's been building up. I remember feeling to at peace after I would pound out a few paragraphs. I miss that. Because now, I have no outlet. I have no way to get the thoughts out, not a healthy way anyway.

So this, this is my therapy. I practice yoga to heal my body. This will help heal my brain. Purge the ugliness and frustration. Release them in a good productive manner, something I enjoy.

That's my plan anyway. I need to be dedicated. I will be. I have to be.

If not, I'm gonna lose it.