It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written here. Man, trying to spend time with everyone while I’m home is not easy. I love my friends dearly… but damn, can they live any farther away from one another? I guess that’s the price of growing up—everything changes, we all move on, and one day you look back and wonder where all the time went. We’re all growing up and, in some ways, growing apart.
My friends are all basically engaged or married, buying their first homes, having gardens, and raising chickens. They’re all settling down, and I’m sitting here without a single prospect of stability in my future. I feel like I can’t relate to their lives or the new beginnings they’re going through. Hell… once I graduate, I plan on trying to visit as many countries as I possibly can before I have to grow up.
It makes me feel like I’m running behind, or maybe like I’m not doing this whole life thing right. But I just can’t fathom a life where I do the same thing every day. Routine breeds boredom, which in turn fuels anger.
College, a house, a garden, and a corporate job cannot be all I have under my belt before I’m thirty. I want to live. I want to look back in my eighties and reminisce about all the reckless adventures I took in my twenties. I want to remember what it felt like to be free.
I think my heart is sometimes torn between two places. I want the kids, the family, the house with a porch swing, and a loving husband—but even deeper inside, I crave always being somewhere new, seeing views I’ve never seen, walking into a local gas station where no one knows me, and especially the quietness of being alone. I just don’t know if they’ll ever coincide… or if that will ever truly be possible.