Taken from Eating Animal, Jonathan Safran Foer.
It’s been a while.
Of late, I have been restless and my hands, like a pair of conspiratorial malcontents, fidgety with dissatisfaction with... what? Maybe it’s the constant waiting and waiting for a whole bunch of things to happen.
I miss the feeling of certainty, of being anchored in something solid; I miss knowing. I miss being sure of where I’m supposed to be... I miss believing in the possibility of dreams. I miss taking pleasure in simple things. I miss looking in the mirror and not feeling like a stranger.


