This past week has been pretty harsh on my internal coping mechanisms. I’m not quite sure why, but I think it might have something to do with my impending twenty-fifth birthday.
Now, normally, I don’t pay much attention to birthdays. yay. another day, another year, another number with which to label me. I stress to myself over and over again that it’s just another number.
But this time it’s been different. Maybe it’s because I’ve had lots of time in the past months to really look at myself, my life, my hopes. or my seeming lack thereof. It’s always been easy for me to deny having hopes or dreams, because if you don’t have any then you can’t really let yourself down. Except that it turned my life into a perpetual internal letdown… because I knew I was lying to myself.
So now here I am at 25. If I think about it, when I was young, I didn’t voice my goals or dreams, becaus I didn’t know what they were. I had nothing to worry about when turning 25 because I didn’t have any sort of pre-conceptions about who, what, and where I would be. So 25 wasn’t going to be some sort of event to me.
Except now that I’m turning 25, it is an event, of sorts. I may not have known where I wanted to be, but I’ve come to at least one conclusion… I should have been doing a lot better, a lot more, with my life than I actually am. I’m not much better off than I was when I started college, career-wise. And this entire internal crisis is career-oriented. The fact that I haven’t moved ahead since college just kills me. Unless you call finding out a series of jobs you have no interest in doing, moving ahead.
My emotional life, and my personal life, whatever you’d like to call it, has moved ahead. It’s changed drastically in the past five years. I can see that progress, and I have to take a moment sometimes to remind myself that if I can get through that, I should be able to get through the rest of my life too. Saying that and living it, though…
To me, moving ahead would be at least having some job that’s vaguely related to something I’d like to be doing, or going to school. So why am I not doing it?
I’ll bet I can come up with all sorts of excuses. I’m good at that, just ask anyone who knows me well enough. And every last one of them would have a grain of truth, at the very least, to them. But it all comes down to one thing.
I’m still afraid. I can’t bring myself to do anything because I’m afraid of myself, afraid of failing, and more afraid of succeeding. I know this. I’ve known this for a long time. And I still don’t do anything about it. It’s easy to do nothing.
I don’t even know what I have to do, though. And that doesn’t help either.
So what I want more than anything for my birthday is something no one can actually give me. I want courage to move in a direction that isn’t backwards, and isn’t futile. I want to be able to move myself.
Oh yeah, and a metropass might help. I should see if I can redraw my budget and leave something out to get one of those. But I guess if it’s the difference between metropass and food, I’ll have to stick with food.