3 days. 72 hours. That’s all the time we have left with 2014.
I can’t wrap my head around that because it seems like just a few weeks ago that I was packing my bags to return home for summer break. Then the World Cup happened and my grandparents came to visit and we roadtripped to San Fran and Vegas and fall flew by and the surgery went smoothly and Xmas came and went and now 2015 is literally just days away.
2015. My 20th year. The year I’ll no longer by an annoying teenager. What the hell. There was a time when I had trouble imagining dates beyond the 2000s. It was a time when getting older seemed neither depressing nor exciting; it was just something I never even thought about. I had no awareness of time. Now that’s all I think about, and honestly I don’t know how to feel about turning 20 and about 2015 in general. 20s is supposed to be a marvelous stage in life because you can legally do all the things you’ve been doing illegally for the last five years, but you’re also that much closer to 30 which is that much closer to 40 which is just a turn away from 50 which is just a hair away from MENOPAUSE and then you might as well die.
Okay, I’m not in a stable enough mood to talk about the future right now. Let’s backtrack, shall we? I think time started to mean something when I started growing up. It’s a gradual process, so I don’t think there’s a single coming-of-age moment that marked my inception into adulthood. But I do know that the four years of high school were the turning point; before then, the future was just a dazzling headlight that heralded beautiful transformations and growth. Obviously the future I was thinking about never exceeded the next decade, my twenties. And my visions were very idealistic, very unoriginal, and hence very appealing.
High school brought my attention to the more distant, less glamorous part of my future and the darker, more realistic paths my life could head down. What if I never make it as a journalist or a writer? What if I can never even afford to rent a house, let along buy one of those fancy apartments that I love so much? What if I actually have to leech off other people for the rest of my life?? Oh what the fuck, I thought I decided not to talk about the damn future.
I’m sorry, I don’t know what inspired all this pessimism today. This time of the year always screws me up emotionally; one minute I’m ecstatic and the next I’m wallowing in despair. It’s why I think there’s really no point in making New Year’s resolutions, because everything changes so drastically so frequently. Nobody at nineteen knows how his or her life would be like in twenty years, and what’s both beautiful and ugly about looking ahead.