I haven’t the foggiest idea what the hell I’m doing.
No one does, I don’t think, but I’ve come to the decision that I may as well embrace that fact. I’m fumbling through life with a sort of general idea of where I’d like to end up, but, as mentioned in a previous post, having a plan is a laughable thing.
I spent most of college completely certain about what I wanted to do with my life. I had everything together – the right guy, the right internships, the right job lined up – and that was simply it. My life was a done deal. Then the whole ‘guy’ thing went to hell in a hand basket, so that aspect was out of the plan. It didn’t matter though, I still had the rest of life figured out.
But seriously, who am I kidding?
I’m 22. If I have life figured out after about two decades on earth I must be some sort of genius. In reality, I don’t have it figured out at all. I just kept the picture small enough to allow me to feel like I did.
Off with the training wheels then, I suppose. Now isn’t the time to be settling into something – now is the time to be questioning everything. I can admit it, I have NO CLUE what I want. I yo-yo back and forth daily on everything from whether or not I’m actually happy to whether or not I should cut off my hair again. I don’t necessarily know if what I think is good for me is actually good for me, or if really it’s bad.
But I’ve always been a hands-on learner. I have a driving urge to make my own mistakes, even if I’ve got thirty people already telling me that they know something is a bad idea. I have to know myself that it’s bad. I can’t just take their word for it.
Admittedly, figuring things out for yourself is a much messier way to live. It’s easier to just believe what someone tells you and call it a day – safer, if you will, to listen to a person who’s already made the mistake before you make the mistake yourself.
Since when, though, has “safe” been interesting?