Coping kept coming onto stage, snapping its pallid fingers in her face, trying to get her to snap to. But snapping to was not something she had done in a while. It had been so long, her whole life – when you get down to it – where she had done what she was told. She did high school to get into college. She did those classes to impress faceless, voiceless people on the other end of acceptance, waitlist, defer, or rejection letters. She did college to get a better job. She dug deep to find the internship and sacrificed freedom to make herself better for this faceless, voiceless world.
And now there is space.
Who even are you, without all of this?
Is that even a skill you can channel?
Is it really that simple?
But I doubt it.
I was wrenched this way, then that. I came upon a conclusion while washing my hair, but when I stepped out into the cold, drenched, I was back on the fence, clinging like the talons of an owl. The pros and cons I know like the ugly scar on my knee, and they come around every time I need to be refreshed as to why it would be great, but also a mistake. I only know for sure that I will refuse a desk-and-computer-8-hour-day. I can’t change the world that way, I know this for sure now. Besides, I want dirt under my fingernails, and constructive, meaningful discomfort at every turn.
Someone in Paris told me, “Never stop studying! Don’t enter the real world!”
My heart screamed a few days later, “Get out of the institution! Claim your freedom!”
I ignored it after that for a while, but it curled around my hand and crushed my knuckles and sneered, “Stop ignoring me, you worthlessly faltering, entitled twit.”
Nobody will do it for me.
I want many, not just one.
Is it really that simple? Convince me.