I can’t wait to grow up” a ten-year-old me would tell myself after wiping away the mud off my shirt and pants and taking twigsand leaves out of my hair. I would spend my day building forts, catching frogs, climbing trees, or drawing my future house in the dirt with a stick. Eventually this would have to end as the sun went down, the mosquitoes came out, and my parents would call my brother, sister, and me inside.
“I can’t wait to grow up” a sixteen-year-old me would tell myself after sitting down to piles of homework after getting up at 5:30 to make it onto the school bus, make it to classes, and participate in many extracurricular activities. With the driver’s license came my first job at a fast-food place; with this new freedom came more rules, restrictions, and responsibilities. How is this even possible, I wondered? Twenty-one has to be the best age.
“I wish I could go back to being young, carefree, with little responsibility and naps,” a twenty-one-year-old me whines to a co-worker from one of the already many jobs I’ve had. You would think twenty-one would be a time to get any extra “partying” out of my system, but it really is not so. At twenty-one I was working a few different jobs while attending school, which I take very seriously, juggling family and friends, and experiencing a bit of stress about my future. Where is the fun in this?
“I still have no idea what I am going to do with my life,” a twenty-two-year-old me quietly admits to herself. When people ask, I say I don’t really have much of a plan and that I am going to take things as they come. I have plans depending on what may or may not happen when I graduate to put into practice when the time comes, but I have no real career choice in mind.
Thinking about the future and “growing up” is exhausting. I’m ready for a Disney movie and a nap.
When it comes to what’s next, your guess is as good as mine. Please let me consult my Magic 8-Ball and I will get back to you on that.