At first I was afraid: a blog beginning

Two completely different things happened recently.

1. One of my best friends went for a CT scan because the doctor thought she might have a brain tumour.
2. A recruiter for a UK job told me I can only apply for a visa until I’m 31 (giving me only about 2 years).

I started thinking about all of the places I haven’t been yet, and all of the ways I’ve been holding back in love, and that time the doctor said there was an abnormality in my pap test results, and I was so scared to go back in case it really was something to worry about.

Looking around me, my friends have spent the past 10 years settling into adult lives with weddings, promotions, and mortgages. My adult life is a lot of me pretending to be grown-up. I’ve gone to school, lived abroad, gone back to school, paid off debt and then took more out.

I don’t have a career sorted, no consistent way of paying my bills, I’ve gone through several “entry-level” jobs, and I feel like my life is in constant preparation for something that never quite happens.

I’m so tired of getting ready to live my life instead of just living it.

I’m also terrified that by the time I get to the place I want to be in, I’ll be too old, or dying, or told that there just aren’t any jobs in this industry, but thanks for your tuition and better luck next time.

I’d like my next job to be the stepping stone to other (better paid) things that it’s supposed to be, instead of yet another false start. Give me travel, give me a job that leaves me better at the end of the day, and give me a morning once in a while when I look around and think that my life is pretty awesome.

And give me love – or at least an awesome friend to make out with, because as much as I like sleeping in my own bed, there’s nothing like someone who’s willing to consider ditching an exciting Saturday night for a snuggle and a movie. Maybe not in that order.

This blog, then, is about trying to figure out what being an adult really means. It’s about rejecting the impulse to follow what everyone else is doing and negotiate a definition that might actually make me happy.

Not happy the way Cadbury Caramilk eggs make me, or the way the right person smiling at just the right moment makes me happy – although both of those things are stupendous.

I’m looking for something that’s going to be satisfying even when it’s challenging and awful. I want to look forward at my fear of death and growing old and feel confident that I’m doing all that I can to live a life that I’m proud of and not one ruled by constant fear and anxiety.