It’s not as if I didn’t know this whole thing was coming–adulthood. It’s not as if I missed all of those days at school when we would sit down and scribble out our futures in crayons and unfettered hope. I not only thought about the future, I yearned for it. I could not wait for the day when I could run away and be a grown up.
And now here I am.
I’m in a good place. I have a good job that I enjoy. I can just barely pay all of my bills and I have healthcare. I have a lovely home. I have good friends, all of the freedom to do as I will, and I even have future plans full of inspiration, education, and sparkly world-changing difference-making. But right here, at this moment, I find myself to be dissatisfied. It’s just…is this all there is?
I go to work wanting to write, but by the time I come home I eat, workout and watch tv and suddenly it’s so late that all I want to do is read. These aren’t bad things in and of themselves, but I become annoyed with myself for not utilizing the drive that is (or was) inside me. I want to sing and be in a show and play my flute and compose and learn guitar and continue to work on piano and what do I do? I make a kale smoothie and browse some things on Pinterest that I will never own or make. This assuages my displeasure for a moment, until the next evening when it happens all over again.
Why can’t I just put my laundry away like a normal person instead of letting it pile high until it takes me an hour to hang everything? Why do I constantly think about organizing my back room and never do it? When did all of my thoughts become so mundane and house-holdy? When I go out I want to be in, when I’m in I think I ought to be out, and in a word I’m just displeased.
All of the above isn’t always true of course. I have a show coming up in the fall, I have been making progress on my plays, and I write every night before bed. I do sing every day, even if I don’t formally practice, and I am making plans to take another dance class. I’ve been excelling at my exercise goals, eating mostly well, and am giving back in the little ways that I can. I get to write at work.
I think I am a little harsh on myself from time to time, and I definitely have standards for what I ought to be doing with my life that are both unrealistic and kind of silly. That sure doesn’t stop me from having them though.
Oh, I’m also extremely hormonal right now. Just as an addendum to all my depressing feelings. Lots of feelings. Happy and silly and sad feelings. Feelings that make me want to listen to emo indie music and wear lots of dark eyeliner and bright lipstick and start scene after scene only to move on to the next inspiration. Feelings that make me want to take a bubble bath and drink some wine and ride my bike and jump out of an airplane and paint a picture in charcoal and sew a skirt and twirl in the lawn and do absolutely nothing and jet off to the big city without looking back and update my blog and not update my blog because I’ve nothing to say (which is completely not true) and floss my teeth and read plays and books and magazines and go to movies and support things on kickstarter and wish I had an idea that was worthy of a kickstart and tweet all the stupid details of my day and instagram my food even though the whole internet tells me not too and buy nothing because of my budget and spend all my money because it is so satisfying and…and…and…
You never mind me and my feelings. I think we’re going to be just fine.