I don’t know how to relate to the real human everyday grown-up life. I’m mostly gleeful and amused by the times when I am confronted by my burgeoning presence in the “real world.” As a person, my ability to pay taxes and claim my work-related benefits are a tiny flower opening towards the sun. It’s a nice feeling, not worrying about every single thing. I want to spoil all the people I like with as much happiness as I can hand out. I’m not concerned with growing old. Every day I establish myself as a person with choices, infinite choices every day where I can make a conscious decision to better myself.
When I was in college, I dreaded entering the “real world.” I imagined I’d be working scant hours at a part-time job I hated, if I was lucky. How could I leave my apartment? How was I going to make rent? The idea of going home haunted me pretty regularly. Finding a job, getting a new apartment, severing ties from the things I depended on so heavily (I’m looking at you, University of Texas work study paycheck)–all of these things ended in the most wonderful and anticlimactic way.
The drawback is my nostalgia about the terrified younger person hurdling through the first throes of adulthood. How much time did I waste in those peaceful and turbulent times wondering if I would be OK? How many more wonderful experiences would have opened to me if I approached them with joy instead of fear? The fleeting periods of stability and safety didn’t seem like enough to build a life on.
I’ll hopefully have more engaging things to say, but this afternoon I’m feeling reflective.