I don’t know what I’m doing.
How many times in the past two years have I said this or some variation of it? How many times in the past two years have I felt like I made mistakes or I regret the decisions that I made? Too many.
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Now that I'm graduating college the stress to make all the right decisions is heightened. It feels like if I make one wrong step now people will shake their heads, because they knew I would never be able to accomplish all my lengthy list of goals. I don’t want to be known as the girl who failed because she didn’t have whatever “it” is.
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There comes a time in every child's life when they realize that their parents might not be the "be all and end all" when it comes to opinions. There might, God forbid, be something that you question. Something that you choose, willingly, to defy. I'm not talking about curfews or rules when it comes to alcohol or boys in the house. I'm talking about the things that you believe to your core, the things that you choose to let define you, the things that you will go to bat to defend. The things that make you... you.
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This method of measuring life changes once you graduate, and that change is hard to deal with. It’s hard to not compare yourself to your peers, scroll through social media and think, “He already has a full time job, volunteers and is getting engaged… I should be too…”
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And regardless of whether or not I became a nomad, I was still leaving Nashville. I was over this city with its drunken country music tourists on Broadway and lack of ocean or mountains and awful traffic and skinny-jean wearing boys who have no idea what they want.
“I’m leaving.”
That was my constant refrain to whoever asked me what I wanted to do.
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This title fit perfectly across the top line of my notebook's page, left to right, when writing the first draft of this piece. If only the content fit as snugly across the length of my mind. It's strange to no longer associate with the label that has identified you for almost your entire life but have no option but to see it through. I've never not been a student, but I'm beginning to tire of it.
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For as long as I can remember, my school reports nearly always said the same thing: good student, does her work, but she is constantly lost in daydreams; her head is always in the clouds. And I grew out of a lot of things but never that.
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A wistful gleam of light pours onto my pale face, bags like fake Prada clutches sit under my eyes and my hair is swept in a ponytail. I've decided to put on my makeup at work to save time, sanity, and immerse myself in an extra two minutes of sleep.
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I haven’t been on a date in seven months. This is the point in the chick film where my best friend says it’s time to get drunk and go find a dude (pops a cork and champagne splashes everywhere). Believe me when I say the desire is there, but the rush and opportunity has not been presented. It’ll happen in it’s own time, I suppose.
Regardless of how timing works, I came to find that perhaps, just perhaps, examining my past relationships and what I learned from them would be the only way to learn from my mistakes in order to have a healthy relationship in the future, whenever that may be.
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Few people warn you of the transition of moving back home. There exists this strange chasm between the gradual independence gained in college and the desired autonomy of adulthood. A degree of dependence, for me, has become unavoidable and I am constantly being reminded of how fortunate I am to be in such a position. It is oddly dispiriting, however, to watch as my carefully constructed independence is dismantled.
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It’s been six months since I graduated from university and if I’m perfectly candid, it’s been a rough ride. People keep telling me that it’s okay to not know what you’re doing at this stage in life. “You’re so young, take time to figure it out!”
I have been told some variation of that statement hundreds of times since April. As reassuring as it is to hear, I haven’t felt content with what I’m doing since I was in school. I miss writing every day. I miss being challenged, studying, learning new things and that fly-by-the-seat-of-my pants adrenaline rush I get anytime I’m working under a strict deadline.
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“How do you want your eggs?”
I’m sitting next to him on the patio of an IHOP in the rain, smiling too much and keeping my hands in my lap where he can’t reach out and grab one.
If he notices the way I don’t lean in for a kiss and cross my arms when we walk, he doesn’t let on. He leans in for me, wraps his arms around me in my favorite bear hug.
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“Let this be enough.”
I heard those simple words this morning as I sat quietly in my living room beneath the “Inhale” and “Exhale” artwork that reminds me to breathe. In my left arm sat my cuddly grey cat that I never intended to own; in my right hand steam rose from the coffee in my Be Brave mug. My jealous Poodle, deeply offended that I could love any creature apart from herself, had crawled into my lap and curled up on the pillow. A soft Target blanket was tucked around my legs, and my feet were warm inside fuzzy socks. A pumpkin candle glowed and fall’s weak morning light shone through the windows. Be still, I urged my mind. Be still and know. Stay quiet and listen.
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When I got the email, I knew I didn’t really have a choice. I was growing bored of my small college town and the fear of remaining there forever was stronger than ever as all of the people around me were graduating. I hated that I had already stayed this long after my own graduation. I was feeling stagnant; I was getting restless. I loved everything about my life as it was, except for the fact that there was no way it would stay that way. I had the urge to leave before everyone else did.
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But difficult classes, loneliness, discontent, and failed experiments quickly overshadowed the idyllic concept I had of this season of life. What had once felt so solid in my mind began to crumble and it's only now, one year later, that little buds of insight are poking through that shattered concrete of some of the blocks I'd built upon my foundation.
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