I am 23 years old, and sometimes it feels like my life is over.
Often I find myself thinking that I've seen the best parts of my short time on this gay earth, and that it couldn't possibly get better. My college years were pretty hard, and I went through some very difficult situations, but despite that, they were a mostly good time, and I learned a lot. I find myself missing those years quite a bit now: the structure, my classes, friends in the same city as me that I could see on a regular basis, partying, etc.
The newfound sense of freedom is incredibly daunting. It doesn't feel like freedom so much as misdirection and the gaping hole of existential crisis stretching open beneath my feet, and I don't know what I'm falling into. I'm gonna succumb to the void. Camus and Sartre have never been so relevant. They didn't used to be. I read their works when I was much more stable and idealistic. I don't even want to deal with how absurd and pointless existing is. I'm not quite sure what my purpose is, if it exists at all.
In Chicago I was sure of my place in the world, of what I was doing, that I was making an impact in a small way, that I was around like-minded people and could see the good in the world. It was there that I found exactly what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I came home, finished up school, applied for jobs, got interviews, and promptly prepared to jump into a full-time career doing what I felt passionate about, armed with a college degree. It took me a little while to realize that it isn't that easy. Graduate school is on the horizon, but until that's finished, it's going to be difficult to find work in my field. I have flashbacks to standing on the L platform, checking Transit Tracker on my phone, seeing that the train is always running later than the screen says it will be. Frustrated that it's not coming fast enough, taking me to where the action is.
I am constantly confused and discouraged by my experiences, and now understand what many of my friends are going through as well.
I was speaking to a stranger the other night, a very nice gay boy, who after inquiring as to whether or not I was "ethnic" based on my name (totally understandable; there are few white girls named Maria), asked how old I was and what I was doing with my life. He said that 23 is a time where you know what it is you want to do, but you also have no idea what you're doing. And that's totally normal. Most people feel this sort of way after they graduate college, for varying amounts of time. This isn't news to me, but this time the advice regarding my personification of the familiar Misdirected College Graduate trope came to rest comfortably in my subconscious, assuring me that things will be fine. I believe they will, and that things have to get worse before they get better.
Debilitating anxiety, awareness of the reality of my hearing loss, a shit immune system, a pesky cardiac illness where I have to be hooked up to a little machine, and interpersonal issues make it difficult to feel capable and adequate in the real world. It's hard to focus on doing what I love when I'm worried about paying my rent, taking care of other living beings, and just surviving. Yet, I understand that many are much less fortunate than I, and struggling a lot harder than I am. I consider myself pretty lucky regardless. I'm intelligent, educated, comfortable with who I am for the most part, and I have the means to make things happen for myself.
My dedication to my plans is still firm, and I'm hitting the books, writing an outline, doing research, putting myself out there to make sure I can follow my dreams as soon as possible. I see exactly where I want to be, and I'm going to get there.
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