It's amazing how many times you can think you've got your life figured out before the doubt hits. I guess the only thing we'll ever be completely sure of is the fact that, yes, we are going to die at some point. Just like in church today, as my mind wondered (as it always does), and I again began doubting my major. I was thinking about how I could never go to grad school for several more years with psychology...I just want to start my life. I suddenly started thinking about being a book editor: I hate workshopping to some extent, and have never considered this before really.
I mean, throughout my life I've considered: rockstar, actress, teacher, writer, therapist, director/editor, lawyer, now book editor, even dreamed about owning my own Underground Pub or downtown restaurant (how cool would that be?). It's being thrown into a game like the sims with no real/known objective/goal. There isn't a big bad boss to defeat at the end. You just have all of these possibilities and options. You could do anything if you really set your mind to it. And as soon as you think, no, you've finally figured out what you want to do with life, another idea pops into your head. When all you want to do is know what you want, know you'll succeed, and chase after it.
We're always going to doubt ourselves.
Just like I think a lot of the time many people just jump in and get married to the first person they really fall in love with...but I've never believed you should just marry someone because you love them. We're capable of loving all kinds of people, who says that's "the one" you're really going to have a successful, happy life with? Which is why I'm afraid when that day comes, I'll be doubting that too.
I hate doubt. Hate indecision. Hate all the choices I have to make. By the end of the week, no, I don't want to decide where we're all going to eat.
But, in a paradox, don't I love these choices as well?
<3<3<3
I mentioned being in church, of course. A different priest today, he brought up people's bucket lists (which, ironically, I was in the mood to work on one last night), things that people will be able to be happy with their lives if they've gotten to do these things, and how it took one man sixty years to get as far as he did on his list, and yada, yada, yada. How some people dream of these things and chase after them. How others are too afraid to leave their shop in the hands of another person so they can go live and chase after their dreams: some people are content with living in their dreams alone. Some people go through the work to achieve them.
I've realized lately that I'm not very good at talking with people. There are always lots of awkward silences. Unless I know you really well and we've got a thousand inside jokes in our backpockets and many months of friendship under our boots, I don't know how to converse. I love knowing about people. I just don't know what to ask, what to say.
Sometimes I'm just not even comfortable asking.
Take my grandma, for instance. I eat lunch with her after church and do my laundry every Sunday. She's seventy years older than me. And honestly, I sadly don't really, really know how to talk to her. So we maybe mention a couple things I did the past week, maybe discuss what's going on back in my hometown, and then she keeps me up to date with all my aunts, uncles, cousins, etc.
However, I was curious. But how exactly do you ask an eighty-nine year old woman about her bucket list without maybe offending her? Hey, your time's probably comin' in the next decade, didja do what you wanted with your life? But eventually I managed to ask in my own short way.
The answer (which I'm sure to butcher) was rather sad.
To sum it up, she didn't know really if she could say she was happy. She admitted to being content. And she was thankful not to have kids or grandkids messed up in drugs, as some people "have to deal with terrible problems like that." Yet she went on a rather long rant that basically talked about all the problems of her children and what they were going through; how she wished "this" married couple got along better, how she wished "this" grandchild hadn't gotten himself into the mess he was in, how this kid took advantage of this parent, how she hated that the three of us had Crohn's, etc. She would be "happy" if she could go back out to California and see her son and his family once more, but she wasn't so sure that she was much up for getting in a plane and going over there again.
In a sense, this is very wise and kind. The troubles her family goes through take a toll on her heart and worry her as well.
(To give some backstory, my grandma is from Indiana and chased my grandpa down here to Arkansas where they had five kids and he hardly worked and eventually they divorced. She was a city girl and lived in a little old house on a farm and her husband took advantage of her. She was a nurse who wasn't home a whole lot. She used to go on some touristy trips to Branson, take swimming aerobics and was on a bowling team, went out for bingo...in the last few years she might go play a game of cards with her elderly neighbor. She has to go out to visit her kids and gets calls from the out of town ones. She goes to church every Sunday but can't hear a darn thing the priest is saying. She goes for a walk around the block, tends to her plants, watches some news, and reads lots of books. She's by herself and doesn't want a dog; she does like dogs, though.)
However, isn't it a shame to be 89, sitting in your rocking chair under a skyroof, munching on a vanilla wafer cookie, telling your youngest grandchild that you're merely content? That you didn't do anything in your life you felt big enough to point out as a cool achievement? Aren't you supposed to have all kinds of stories to tell to your grandchildren? My grandma never has. The few she's shared I had to awkwardly ask her about as well.
To be 89 years old, and "content."
I feel like that's the road I'm on.
It's time to flip a coin and get off on an exit.
I want to do something with my life.
Let's not be wasteful here.
<3<3<3
Hipsters are everywhere.
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