TERMINALLY UNCHILL AND WICKEDLY PARANOID
Here is as good a place to start as any. I’m not yet sure what the purpose of this is, or what it will become. But does that even matter?
a) Write every day and be praised for my revolutionary anecdotes? (unlikely)
b) Fit perfectly into the demographic of slightly confused, twenty-something year old with somewhat of a blog and the weight of the world on her shoulders? (probably)
c) Find some sort of solace in knowing that what I wish I could read from others, I could just write myself? (hopefully)
Adolescence has been a tumultuous collision of every feeling under the sun. It’s left me scattered somewhere in between neither here nor there, wondering what the hell is going on. I don’t say that as if I’m the only one, of course. As if for some reason I’m on a ceaseless journey to my own destruction, while everyone revels in the pure magnificence of their own lives. But it’s only now that I’m thinking maybe it’s time to take a (rather large) breather.
They say, “if you don’t like something, change it”…
As a chronic over-thinker and sucker for routine, the thought of the unknown was unbearable. For me, the transition from school, to school, to school, to university was seamless and uncomplicated. With graduation in sight, I had a fairly good idea of how things were going to pan out for me (just the way I liked it). Within a matter of months, it was the opposite. The job I thought would be perfect for me, wasn’t, and the relationship I had hoped would last forever, didn’t. For the first-time uncertainty was staring me in the face and yet I felt weirdly content. A good friend commented how I was handling things, “strangely well.” I will admit I was a little perplexed myself, as my dramatic tendencies were no secret to either of us. But had anything truly traumatic happened to me? Did I deserve to call this any kind of struggle? It didn’t matter, because it was what it was.
Our biggest critics and own worst enemies.
Being #blessed with the freedom of choice, has also lent itself to feelings of responsibility and guilt. At sixteen, I’d marvel at those in their twenties, thinking how experienced and mature they seemed. How within a few years I too would be sporting a bustier chest to match my killer attitude and “cool chick” persona, when really I’m just left wondering whether I’ve utilised the $20,000 worth of knowledge gained from sitting in a lecture theatre. Or more importantly, if I’ve contributed enough to the relationships built during such time? All too often I remind myself I am twenty-two (seriously), and it was upon realising that no one else is particularly worried about whether I’ll be married by the time I’m twenty-five, or if my LinkedIn profile is as impressive as that of my fellow graduates, that I began to “chill out” (slightly).
It’s cool to be kind (to yourself included).
It’s impossible to have it together 100% of the time. Even 60% and sometimes I feel like I’m winning… So what if I’ve spent my entire Sunday watching CI channel and nursing an entirely self-inflicted sickness. Maybe I have wasted the last two hours googling ‘worst celebrity breakups’ to somewhat ease the torment of “Mr. Hottie’s” dismissal of our short-lived romance. Not for a moment do I advocate basking in the misery of others, nor do I think it’s healthy, but a gentle reminder that we’re all living the same human experience never hurts, right?
The desire to be good, do good and feel good is overwhelming. If you’re currently nailing all three, I commend you. You are an amazing human. If you’re like me and hoping to crack the trifecta, welcome to the dark side. Rather than continuing to torture myself with feelings of inadequacy, I’ve decided to accept the notion that trying to control the course of my life is redundant.
Finally, I’m ready to be surprised.