I don't know what I'm doing with my life. I thought I'd have it all figured out by now. Hell ... I'm 26! When I was planning my life out when I was 11 years old, I knew I'd be engaged by 25, married by 26, and have my first kid by the age of 28. Clearly, that's not gonna happen. And it's sad, whether I'd like to admit it or not.
I don't know what I'm doing career-wise either. I obviously like to write—that's why I got into the newspaper biz in the first place. But I can't work at newspapers anymore because 1) they can't pay me enough to pay my bills, and 2) they're all going out of business themselves. Two years ago, I thought grad school would solve all my problems by giving me the expertise to handle big policy decisions and really help the world—not just by writing stories about our problems anymore, but by solving them. Little did I know that upon graduation, our economy would suck more than it has since 1931. I guess I'm just lucky to still have a roof over my head. I shouldn't be allowed to complain about the fact that I can't help people in the way that I'd envisioned I really could.
I also don't know where I should live. Obviously, when I moved to DC, I figured this would be it—this is where I'm supposed to be. Honestly, where else would I be if I wanted to help the world through international policy? They don't really handle that anywhere besides DC. But I never counted on how much I'd miss Atlanta. Or on how much I'd miss the people there. Or on how I'd feel that maybe ... if I move back ... then maybe things would work out perfectly, and maybe the person I'm supposed to be with forever would be there too ... maybe waiting with open arms and an open heart ... and maybe all I needed to make that happen would be to hear it and for him to be there.
But maybe I can't. And maybe it isn't. And maybe it won't. Maybe I'm supposed to stay in DC after all. I can't move somewhere on the hope or the dream that something might maybe happen if I do. I certainly can't move somewhere where my career aspirations would never be met if that fantasy scenario never played out to script. I just can't do that. It doesn't matter how much I'd like to ... it becomes a matter of common sense. I'm 26 damn years old. I can't move back "home" without any knowledge that "home" will still be "home" and give me the things I need to be happy in life. Maybe I have to honestly make DC "home." Maybe I have to find someone here who makes me feel happy and complete, and maybe I have to go ahead and take that perfect job that allows me to save the world (or at least take some steps toward healing it).
At this point, I don't know. It's all one big "maybe." The only certainty is that I'll be graduating from grad school one week from tomorrow, and I'd sure as hell better figure it all out soon. Or else ... I don't know. Maybe I'll never be happy at all.
Honestly, I don't think that'll be the case. I don't—no matter what happens. I'm an eternal optimist. I don't know ... maybe I can just be happy knowing that I'm sure I've done everything in my power to be happy for once and for all. Maybe.
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