It’s been so long since I’ve blogged that I don’t even know where to start anymore. First semester is finally over, although in retrospect it went by way too quickly. It’s great to be home and watching Netflix guilt-free instead of spending fifteen hours a day confined in the concrete walls of one of the multiple libraries on campus.
It’s also been nice to catch up with old friends. I love seeing how everyone’s doing and the directions that everyone’s lives are taking them and seeing them accomplish so many things. You’re all growing up and maturing into the young adults that everyone had hoped you would.
It’s also daunting to know that you’re getting old. Not old old, but old in the sense that you’ll need to start having a “real job” and “settling down” and “thinking about the future.” Those vague and ambiguous concepts are starting to loom over me, reminding me that as soon as my four years are up and a degree is in my hand, I’ll have to face reality and everything beyond the campus gates. I’ll have to truly “grow up.” That thirty years from now, my life will probably look like my parents. A job, angsty teenagers and bills. Lots of bills. And responsibilities. And all of that scares me. Fuck, in all honesty it scares the shit out of me. One of my biggest fears is growing up. I’m scared of peaking and having to life the rest of my life coasting in mundanity, perpetually less than what it used to be. The classic Dan Scott. I don’t want to be a Dan Scott.
I’m scared of the future, the uncertainty of what it entails and the endless decisions I will have to make. Of having to live with my mistakes and bad choices. I’m scared of dying. Of everything being for nothing. Or worse, of eternal damnation. While I live my life without a care in the world, and party like it really is 1999, there always is a nagging feeling that unsettles me. That reminds me that I have responsibilities. That I have a future to be concerned about. And that I need to be perhaps even, a better me than what I currently am. I wonder if we ever figure out who we are, or will it always be something that we struggle with. Will I still be questioning who I am or what I want to be when I’m 45?
Somedays life is great and it’s fun and carefree. And sometimes — like today — it’s heavy and you carry the weight of it on your shoulders. It’s a fickle thing I suppose. This thing called life.