I am lost and I don't want to be.
I am turning 21 in less than a week and I feel more lost than ever -- to the extent of not knowing what music I enjoy anymore. Am I listening to Ariana Grande now? I get that I've got one less problem without him, but seriously? Have I left no dignity?
But in all seriousness, the stupid number held significance mostly for the glass of beer but also because my teenage self labelled 21 as an entering age for adulthood. I idolized this future, which quickly turned into the present, as a time of pinterest-worthy outfits and picturesque study sessions in the campus courtyard as portrayed in the school brochures. Instead, too much of my time is spent on Netflix.
I am lost and I don't want to be. I want to know that this $100,000+ degree is leading me to a career that will pay for an apartment in this rainy city and plane tickets that will fly me to see my relatives on long weekends, where I will answer everyone's concerns for my future with anything but a shrug. That the caffeine runs, the ignored mental illness, and the friendships that weren't prioritized will somehow be justified. That the cost-benefit analysis won't disappoint me once all the data is gathered, that there is a definitive destination even though that goes against my post-modern-ish beliefs, and I wish I could know where that finish line is with certainty.
I have done everything I was told to do. Attend a prestigious school, get good grades, volunteer, work part-time, work full-time, join clubs, take on a leadership position, take on another leadership position, make friends, find mentors, have a hobby, exercise... must I go on? There is always more that can be done, yes, I get it, but I have done much more than my tiny body can handle and I still seem to be unsure of where I want to be.
I want to flip the page back to five years ago where dreams and goals were exchangeable terms. Because I am too uncomfortable in my own skin -- and I don't want to be. I want to believe in something again. Feel again. Dream again, in this jumble mess that we call the present.