Being Nineteen

I am always thinking about how I can be special, what I can do to make myself feel successful, things I wish I had that would make me special.  I’ve been a part of special things before and they were the things that made life valuable. All of those things happened in high school and I’ve kept a promise with myself that I would never be someone who peaked in high school or just do mediocre things.  I refuse to ever get a sensible job, even if I have to live in a box.  I’ve flirted with the idea of so many professions that all take incredible luck and convenient timing.  I went to NYC to be a Broadway actress then realized I didn’t really even like Broadway all that much.  I’ve thought about moving to Europe for a year just to say I did it.  I’ve even thought of moving to LA and becoming a yoga instructor/art teacher/starving actress. 

I don’t know what it’s like when you’re no longer a teenager, but nineteen has been the most confusing year of my life.  The only way I can describe this age is you’re finally out of the haze of hormones and high school, and it’s really the first time you’re conscious of being an intellectual being in the sense that you have so many opportunities and choices, but then you’re condemned to sit in a building for most of your day and figure out what in the hell you’re going to make of yourself while you’re tuning out lectures about formal criticism, industrialism, and dead people who played the lute.

Do I have an idea of what I want to do for a living? Yes. I think. Maybe.  Possibly. Why.  WHO’S ASKING? WAIT DON’T MAKE THAT MY FINAL ANSWER!

 Friends TV Marathon anyone?