I’ve been away for a while. I know that all of the 55 people that read this blog, that number comprised of mostly nosy family members or obligated friends- have totally been patiently awaiting the return of my posts. My absence has been appropriate for my current life-situation: that of a 19 year old college student deep in the throes of an existential crisis. Do I digress? Probably. I tend to.
I turned 19 and suddenly it was as if some higher being, intent on ruining my waning confidence, laid down all of the world’s responsibilities at my feet. Or, if anyone is a Greek Mythology fan, on my very bony shoulders. This transition- which branded me one year closer to the infamous “20s”- was the final chance I had to get myself together. To figure out what I wanted to do with my life. To seal the deal. Sign the contract. Choose- and finally give my brain a vacation from the anxiety that it fistfights with on the daily.
I’ve met people who have been blessed with a well-rounded, marketable type of intelligence. I’ll use my friend Nora as a reference point. She’s smarter than anyone I’ve ever met. Not simply because she helped me pass Chemistry sophomore year of high school, but also because she always just gets it. In 7th grade, my math teacher asked her to explain the lessons to me at the conclusion of almost every class. I guess that could be considered more of a direct insult to my mathematical ineptitude, but take it as you will.
I joke that Nora is my third parent; I’ve known her since I was five years old. She and I have gone through all of the unspeakable stages of adolescence together and came out the other side on excellent terms. An applause-worthy accomplishment. Nora saw me at 8, 12, and 17- all questionable ages that tend to bring out the worst in people. If you find someone who can love you through all that messy stuff, keep them close forever.
The reason I am mentioning Nora is because I have no doubt that she’ll enter the world armed with her heady confidence and ingenuity. After graduating with a doctorate from Northeastern in Physical Therapy, she’ll one day retire- after years of selfless work and six figure paychecks- to a beautiful beach house in Cape Cod. Hopefully she’ll like me enough at that point to still entertain my company as the starving artist of the friend group (because, let’s be honest, we all know Meghan will be off somewhere drinking a bottle of red wine and taming some feral cats). But please- someone, anyone, friend or foe- if I’m still writing blog posts by that time, change my wifi password and kick my ass off of your couch.
In stark contrast to Nora’s foreseeable life plan, I have some serious soul-searching to do. Because writing sassy blog posts and staying in bed for long hours reading Sylvia Plath is not exactly a marketable talent. It isn’t really resume-building material. In fact, it’s the kind of stuff you don’t tell someone until 6 months into a relationship- when it’s far too late to escape.
In summary, the past few months have thrown all kinds of decisions at me. Many of those I’ve felt ill-prepared for. Some of these include graduating a year early, writing an Honors Thesis paper on something that won’t make me want to rip out my hair, studying abroad, graduate school, future career possibilities, realizing that my major kind of disgusts me, etc. Sound like a handful? It probably doesn’t- at least not for the average adult who’s handling things like bills and taxes and those weird things called checkbooks. But for my present circumstances, and taking into consideration my age and maturity, (or lack thereof) I think my anxiety is warranted. I want to have everything figured out. I think that’s a universal desire of anyone my age- to transition smoothly into the “real world” and not disappoint any immediate family members in the process. The latter part of that statement is arguably impossible, but once again I digress.
In the midst of my anxiety over matters that are largely out of my ill-manicured hands, I reached a few varying conclusions. The first is that I am the type of person that doesn’t detest hard work. It comforts me to know that whether I jump into furthering my education or decide on taking a job somewhere (BUT WHERE???), I’ll inevitably be okay. I’m used to working. What I’m not used to, though, is the not knowing. Not being prepared. Not being ready.
I’ve come to realize that it’s nearly impossible not to worry about the direction of life. Whether you’re 19 or 40 or 63, you’re going to inevitably wonder about what variances the next five years will bring. Life’s unforeseen direction is clearly more antagonizing at the age of 20 when you have $85 in your bank account and expired milk in your fridge, but regardless, it’s familiar at any stage in life.
What I’m trying to say is- and maybe I should have just said it four paragraphs ago- there is no way I will ever know. There is no guarantee of contentment in this lifetime besides the comfort of a cat and a warm cup of tea. It’s all a crapshoot and we might as well get used to it. Having said that, I’ll admit that I’m getting better at this; I’m taking life as it comes. Trying to be more honest. Trying to communicate. Trying to surround myself with people who understand me rather than people who make me feel misunderstood. That was a big one for me.
I may end up living in my parents’ house for a year. I may end up publishing something that’s actually worth reading. I may get my Masters in creative nonfiction writing. I may meet a guy who doesn’t make me want to run in the opposite direction every time he opens his mouth to speak. I may work an office job from 9-5 while I try to get by and figure out the next step. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll find my own separate peace. Regardless, 5 years is a long time. And in that time a great number of things will happen or not happen.
It is not up to me to damage my youngness with the heavy burden of fear. It’s useless- there’s nothing I can do. I’m not sure if this post accomplished anything, or if it was just a random rambling that would have been better suited for the insides of a journal. But for all of my friends who have absolutely no idea what the world holds for them (I mean you, Jac) I can empathize with you. And it’s gonna probably be okay (I won’t say definitely, because my 2015 resolution is to be more transparent). At this point, I’m considering starting the Teen-Transitioning-Into-Adulthood Existential Crisis Club. The TTIAECC. Totally not a mouthful. Totally not pretentiously pathetic. Hit me up if you’re looking to join. All you need is questionable emotional stability and a good sense of humor.
And did I get anywhere with all of this writing? Did I reach any conclusion? No, no I didn’t.
Well, I certainly saw that coming.
racheldwriting 