As I write this, I’m a few short weeks away from turning 22, something I am both looking forward to and dreading, because it means getting another year older, but still not having accomplished everything I’d wanted.
I’m watching Gilmore Girls, waiting for my boyfriend to come home so we can grab a bite to eat. It’s been a while since I last saw it, but getting back into the show brings with it a sense of nostalgia and remembering a time in my life when things were so different.
In a lot of ways, it makes me feel somehow less than other people my age or other writers who have published pieces for the ‘big’ names like The Guardian, HuffPost, Metro or even Cosmopolitan. Whilst getting my articles published for all these companies is on my ‘Things To Hopefully Get Done by The End of 2021’, I know that it doesn’t define my worth as a writer or even an ounce of my talent. I’m a good writer and I know that—currently, I have articles drafted and submitted to other online media platforms which will be published in the coming weeks. I have started my own platform (Poised) to be launched in September 2020, which will be featuring other writers and contributors, myself included.
With growing up…
You also have the inevitable fear and the doom and gloom of the looming future, challenges and soul-sucking crushed hopes rain down like the embers from a torched building made of naïve dreams. In some ways, it’s almost relieving – it means Change and Finding New Dreams. In other ways, it’s like being a stuck in the middle of the motorway – cars rushing, speeding and blurring past, seeing people getting to their destinations and their end-goals, but you’re just . . . stuck. I feel like, for the first time in a very long time, I’m thinking beyond Now and Today, onto Tomorrow and What I Want and What I Hope To Achieve by certain times, but at the same time, not giving myself a deadline to attain these goals. The thing is, what I’ve realised is that there is no time limit to achieving your dreams.
This year alone, heck even in July 2020, I’ve written more than I did before in a short period, and reached a wider audience.
In a lot of ways, I would love to go into a career in journalism, to be able to write for a living, but it’s not a safe nor stable job and that is what scares me. But having this as a hobby and passion is enough for me, and I have dreams bigger than just writing, of making a difference in more than just one way. This piece isn’t just about the fears of Making Choices to Do with Careers, but about the inevitable changes that come with growing up.
Being so close to turning 22 makes me reflect on the relationships that have shifted and altered themselves to reshape into something that is gone and makes room for better, or into something stronger and supportive. My birthday last year was spent with two amazing friends, but one half of it has changed into a not-friends type of relationship, where we try to be there for each other in the hard times, but other than that we don’t talk. As you grow up, it’s normal for friendships to end, and friendships to form, for people and feelings to change because you, yourself change.
Some decisions I’ve made resulted in digging a bleak hole of numbing emptiness, not seeking to make any new friends because really, what is the point? I already have the people I love in my life, friends who have been there for years albeit not talking much or seeing one of them once a year because of clashing schedules, busy home lives and a baby, and friends who are there in the moments that are both good and bad, and a boyfriend who supports me in every way, who helps me and makes sure I write even when I feel like I can’t and buys me Häagen Dasz strawberry cheesecake ice cream when I’m sad. So do I really need more friends? I don’t know, I don’t think I do.
Maybe it’ll be nice to make more friends, ones that see beyond the disastrous choices I make or the enticing exhibits of doubt and depressive thoughts surrounding me and my body and my future, colliding in a crash of hopeful dreams and wishes on stars. In a lot of ways, I want to get out of this body of mine, climb out into the skies and soar amidst the fluffy white clouds with all the birds and butterflies, feel the warm glow of the sun, get out of the expectations set out by society and timelines and families.
There’s a soft breeze coming in from the wide-open window, Rory is fresh of her breakup with Dean on a Saturday morning at 6am, and I am, despite the scary doubts clouding my brain, still hopeful, still dreaming, still going to reach for beyond the stars when it comes to my future.
Growing up is terrifying, Gilmore Girls has a sweet nostalgia attached to it, and while I want to get out of the burdens sneaking up like Pennywise, I am going to stay, with my feet firmly planted, to prove to myself that I can, and will, achieve everything I want.
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