Into The Abyss.

Hey….just a little annoyed at the moment. For the usual reasons. Family. Life. All of it. It seems as though everyone has an opinion these days about the way I choose to live MY life. I get it, I do. Their intentions are good and I know that they only want me to be happy. But sometimes…sometimes I just want to scream. To tell them all to back the f*** off, you know? I’m 23 years old, not some 5-year-old child who needs handholding. You’d think they’d know me by now. If they do, apparently they just don’t care. Or something like that. There’s no winning with them. It’s like no matter what I do, they always have something to say. Do this, do that. Go back to school. Choose a major and stick with it. Figure out what you want to do with your life. And so on. Ugh, I hate it!! They act like it’s so simple and so easy. But it’s not. I’m not like them. I don’t want to have my life planned out for me. I hate plans! I hate doing what’s expected of me, according to them. What is so wrong with letting the pieces fall into place of their own volition? Why can’t they see that all the pressure and their unrealistic expectations are what screwed me up in the first place? Why?

I tried doing it their way. I got the straight-a’s like they wanted. I got the full ride to an Ivy League university. I didn’t party or do drugs or get into trouble. I was the good girl. Just like they wanted me to be. But that’s NOT me. I’m not good or perfect. I have flaws and I screw up. I don’t want to walk the straight and narrow line they’ve drawn out for me. I don’t want to play it safe or live by their rules. Or anyone else’s, for that matter. I want to learn from the mistakes that I’VE made and not theirs. I want to take risks, even if I lose everything. I want to LIVE.

Perfect is my sister. Not me. She’s the level-headed one. She did everything right. Good grades, didn’t party, graduated from a good college, and became a teacher. She even did the whole “love” thing right. She just got married in July to the same guy she’s been with since college. Her first and only serious relationship. Eight years. That’s how long they’ve been together before they got married. She’s doing everything by the book. School first, career second, and now a family. I love my sister, truly I do. She’s a good person, inside and out. But sometimes it’s hard to believe that we’re actually sisters, let alone that we’re even related at all. We’re complete opposites, in every way. She’s responsible and rational and plans–she loves plans. Her life is like a textbook checklist. If I had to choose only one word to describe her, it would be SAFE. Not that safe is a bad thing necessarily, because it’s not. It works for her. She’s successful and happy and I’m happy for her. I am.

But that’s not me. I’m stubborn and impulsive and reckless. I take risks and make mistakes, a lot of them. I’m flighty and I get bored easily. I’ll try anything once, without or within reason. She trusts too much, and I don’t trust enough. She had her traditional, fairy-tale wedding. White dress, the church, lots of friends and family around–the whole thing. And me–I’m more the girl that would up and run off to Vegas to elope, or get married at sunset on a beach somewhere barefoot, or during the week when most people are still at work. That’s more my style. She believes in happily-ever-afters and loving one person for the rest of her life. And that’s great. It is. It’s not that I don’t believe in those things or think it isn’t possible. I think it CAN happen for some people. The lucky ones. It’s not really me though. Sure, someday I’d like to get married and settle down. I want those things just as much as the next person. But I’m not so naive that I don’t think it might not last. People change, love fades, and people get divorced. It happens. That’s just a fact of life. You don’t always know what’s going to happen. I’m just trying to be realistic, I guess. The point is, I’m not my sister and I’m never going to be. I don’t want to be her either. She’s the stable, logical one and I’m always going to be the head-in-the-clouds, daydreaming gypsy. I hate safe. I hate feeling tied-down and smothered by society and everyone else’s rules. This is, after all, MY life. Mine.

I plan on going back to school. But on my terms and my timetable, not theirs. I’ll go back when I’m ready and not a moment before. I need time though. Time to decide what I want and what I want to be. I need to figure that out before I can do anything, or I’ll just end up wasting my time and theirs, like I did before. I know too many people who went to college, got a degree, and yet their lives are miserable and complacent. I don’t want that to be me. Trapped in a career that I hate, always thinking about what’s on the other side of that #2 door, always wanting and searching for more. Not me.

I love rocks and volcanoes and digging in dirt for fossils, but geology isn’t for me. Science is supposed to be fun, and not work. I love writing, but do I really want to end up in some cubicle at some newspaper, giving people the same news scoop that’s going to be printed in every paper in the nation? I don’t know if that’s what I want. I do know though, that I don’t want to write because I have to if I want that paycheck on Friday. No. I want to write because I WANT TO write. Because it’s something I enjoy and love to do. I want to write about things that actually have meaning, that mean something to me. Things that are important to me and that I’m passionate about. I want to travel and see as much of the world as I possibly can. I want to go to a third-world country and see for myself what life there is like. I want to write about the truth and take pictures for the world to see what I’ve seen. I don’t my words or the truth to be censored or edited by some corporate exec sitting behind some desk that has no clue what life is like outside his big, shiny office with a great view. I want people to see the world through my eyes, my point of view.

I just want my life to mean something, you know? I want to join the Peace Corps and help as many people as I can. I want to stand on the front lines and know how it truly feels to fight for something you believe in, something that’s actually worth it. I want to make a difference, even if it’s just a small thing. I want to understand. To know what all this means. I want to feel complete, for once in my life. To be able to honestly say when I die that I have lived. That I’ve seen the world. I’ve seen heaven and the depths of hell. That I’ve laughed and I’ve cried. That I’ve loved and I’ve lost. More than anything, I want the world to know that I was here.

I don’t want fame or infamy, or to go down in history. My desires are far more simple and less superficial than that. I want to be known for being unknown, if that makes any sense at all. I don’t need the world to know my name. I want to be nobody. Nameless, faceless in a crowd. I don’t want glory or power or riches. All I want is the ultimate reward for a life lived. It doesn’t come with a price tag. It’s not easily given or achieved. It’s earned. Happiness. That’s what I want. Doesn’t everyone?

Yikes. Yeah….well now that I feel like I’ve just written a term paper for the philosophy course I took a couple years back…I write the weirdest things. Oh well…. 🙂



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