I was reading the paper the other day, (before you get the wrong idea, it was because I was bored and at the Air India office), and I read something in the op-ed column of the TOI about us having too much choice. It’s a theme that’s been running in my head too, because, of course, it’s time for MinCat’s biennial life crisis.
I’m much happier in Hyderabad than I’ve been anywhere else, yes even in New York. I acquired a wonderful group of friends, places to go, music I like, had two fabulous flatmates (though one did go down the toilet, and some might say I should have expected it. Heck even I say that), and wonder of all wonders, found a boy willing to date me (after much coaxing, drama, patience etc.). The job doesn’t suck too much either, apart from the usual brown nosing desi manager stuff. I’m right by the rents, talk many times a day, see them every weekend. It’s lovely.
And yet I’m discontent.
Sometimes I think it’s because I really am meant for something strange and quirky, like teaching languages in foreign countries. Sometimes I think I’m too lazy to put my back into it and chip away at the difficulties of other, more conventional, careers until I have something I can hold on to. Sometimes I think I AM happy, just convinced that, with the myriad of choices out there, there’s something “better”.
Which led me to wonder if maybe that’s our malaise; even if we get what we wanted, our discontent grows because of all the things we are told we can have – whether or not we really can have them.