after weighing all my baggage and measuring all the options, after making mistakes and learning from them, after taking stock in who i am and what i have and where i want to go, i realize that all it comes down to is: i don’t want to grow up.
while it may seem charming and noble to remain childlike & wonder-filled, there is something faulty in the notion of forever. there is nothing charming about pretending everything is okay. there is nothing noble about shunning responsibility.
but i don’t know what to do with that. i don’t know how to reconcile my desire for a world where ordinary things are beautiful and everybody can make magic with the reality that some days there is nothing but gloom and sometimes our favorite people let us down. i don’t know how to act with urgency, because i am too busy painting candy-colored skies and taking naps beneath cardboard trees. i don’t know how to be a grown-up.
shouldn’t i know this by now? i am almost 27 years old. when my mother was my age, she was rearing a rambunctious 2-year-old. i can’t conceive of taking care of another person. i can barely take care of myself.
i know i am on my way to somewhere good, but i have come across some twists and bumps, and i’m scared. i’m scared of tripping and falling and hurting myself. i’m scared of going there alone. mostly, though, i’m just scared that i might not get anywhere at all.