I've decided that I have to write my post first before I go and read all the wonderful and brilliant things written by all the other participants in Sunday Scribblings. It gives my Inner Critic too much fuel to try and fight my writing, not a good thing! I'm going to work through it this week, but hope to make it easier on myself next time!
Real Life felt like something too big for her, something to be avoided. It meant responsibility, commitment, choosing one way or the other, monotony- didn't it? It gave her a sense of foreboding, not a sense of freedom. If I let life become Real, will I do it wrong? Will I have to conform to what everyone thinks I'm meant to be? Will all my own choices be thrown out the window?
Real Life was what was waiting for her after she walked across the stage to receive her university degree. She wanted to slow time down, make that walk last for years- impossible. It suffocated her as it closed in and a decision about "what to do next" loomed on every horizon. Why did everyone else seem to know what they wanted to do, know where they were going to be? What is wrong with me, she thought.
Maybe if she packed her bags and flew to a far away land, she would be able to keep the responsibility at bay, the boredom on the outskirts of daily life, and stay excited about being alive. She wasn't grown up enough to handle the responsibility of loans, of finding a career, of being decisive. This was a much more attractive alternative- run away. And have a chance to be whomever she wanted, outside her comfort zone, away from any recognized expectations.
She got on the plane in a cloud of tears and terror of what waited for her on the other end, but deep down, she knew this was the absolute right decision for her. Screw responsibility, Real Life is going to be about something else now! It will be about finding herself, seeing new places and meeting new people, tasting a new way to live. It will be about being happy in the moment, about cherishing differences. It will feel light and colourful, not stale and insistent. It will be about choosing to live the life she wants, not fitting into the box that others want for her. It will be a transient life, one full of adventure and risks. It will fill her with meaning, purpose, and validation. People will no longer see her as someone who can't be responsible. They will see her as a world traveler and be in awe of all she has done. She will be successful, strong, and inspiring. And people will finally stop asking her "what she's going to do with her life".
Little did she know, Real Life can be whatever It wants to be, no matter how fast or far you run or how hard you try to mold it- Real Life is every moment, no matter where you are.
I could have written so many different things from that post, does anyone else find that? Once you get started, the flood gates open and the possibilities for interpretation are endless??!
4 comments:
M, this was a beautiful post that really hit home for me. And I definitely felt the same way about starting to write this post and feeling the "flood gates" open and tons of creativity flow through. I'm so glad we found eachother! ~Maggie
I agree with La vie en rose, I LOVE that last line.
I think writing first is a great idea...I am terrible about comparing myself to others as well. It is realy hard not to in the face of so many talented folks!!
Beautiful story!!
Hi M! I too felt I could have written any of dozens of different responses. It's a great prompt Meg came up with. I really like where you went with this -- that moment right after college was a time of terrifying realizations for me, too, a feeling of reality closing in, or finally revealing itself or something. I wish I would have had adventures then, but that seemed scarier than just working! I hope I can continue to weave adventures through my whole life though, make them part of the reality!
After I posted mine and began reading other contributions, my mind began going in a million different directions, too. But the diversity of perspectives is so refreshing. Yours is wonderful.
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