I’m 25 now. 25. I just have to keep saying it so that it will sink in. And while it’s sinking in, I’m left here wondering, is this – all that is around me – what I’d dreamed? Is this what I’d wanted? When I pictured my life, when I pictured who I’d be…was it me? Would my five-year old self recognize me? Would she think I was “cool”? Would she want me to be the babysitter? Or would she be disappointed at what her life had mapped out for her in her future? Have I said the right things, made the right decisions? Been nice enough, been sincere enough, loved enough, laughed enough, cried enough?
Been nice enough, been sincere enough, loved enough, laughed enough, cried enough?
The past five years have gone by fast…faster than I thought they would…but not faster than every older and wiser woman warned. “You’ve got to enjoy every minute because, one day, you’re going to look back on these times and wish you could have them back.” “Ha” – I scoffed. “You obviously don’t know what I am going through. These times are tough.” And they were.
Five years ago, I was in love. In love, but broken hearted. And I was in the process of transferring colleges to escape. I found solace in the small, religious university that was close to my parents and that only one year prior had caused me so much strife in my efforts to grow up. It wasn’t an easy decision to leave my “real college.”
While I was there, I blossomed into a confident and outgoing woman. I tested my wings and flew a little. I made friends with girls, something I’ve never really been great at doing, and joined a sorority. I asked boys to date parties and formals. I got alcohol poisoning, fell down a flight of stairs and skipped classes (in that order). I went to
When I transferred back to
And these limited experiences were all in one year. My twentieth year.
All this leads me to wonder, how fast will the next five years go? Does time ever slow down?
Can’t the world just stop.
Just for a moment. Let me catch my breath.
Sometimes I feel that if life were an amusement park ride, mine would be operated by the crazy, toothless, liquored-up carnie. He would laugh maniacally as he turned the ride’s gears to go faster and faster, forcing my head back so hard that I couldn’t lift it anymore. The lights of the park would become one long blur, spinning round and round
I’d beg him to stop. Slow down.
Just for a moment. Let me just catch my breath.
But he’d just laugh harder…and perhaps a little spittle would drip down the side of his mouth.
Maybe in the next five I’ll graduate grad school (phew, I better!). Maybe in the next five I’ll fall in love. Maybe I’ll fall out of love. Maybe I’ll give up on love. Maybe I’ll live in