Me neither.
But last night I was just that. In less than a week I will turn 25. That's half of 50. I don't know how it happened so quickly. But I guess everyone says that, don't they? I've spent the last ten years doing alternately, exactly what I was supposed to, and whatever the hell I felt like doing. And now, with 25 looming on the horizon like the inevitable zombie apocalypse, I've come to the horrifying realization that I have absolutely no clue what I plan to do with my life. And I'm losing years in which it will be acceptable to be completely without focus and can't seem to shake the idea that I have absolutely no marketable skills.
I am proficient at many things, even moderately good at a few - but am exceptionally talented at... well, I have no idea.
I'm quite a good swimmer, but only with a tank of air on my back. I'm very good at writing book reports on things I've not actually read. I'm very very good at reading things the opposite of those things the book reports were on. But nothing I've ever tried (and lordy has it been a few), has elicited the response of "My God! You're amazing!" from those around me. I don't know why I feel like I need to be a natural at something to find what I want to do with the rest of my life - maybe it's all of those damned coming of age movies I watched in the early 90s where the nerdy kid was secretly amazing at football, or the shy kid turns his passion for model planes into a career in something or other that sounds really fancy. None of the things I was ever passionate about as a child seem like good career moves. Being Batman? I think he's got that one covered. Cheerleading ends with college - and at some point you should probably start avoiding activities that cause broken bones on a regular basis. I love technology, but failed in my attempts to become a computer science major (Why do you need chemistry for computer science? Seriously?).
Over the past few years I have tended bar, been an underwater photographer and occasional videographer, taught English to small Koreans and enjoyed each of them until I didn't. And now I'm sitting in my bed in Virginia, whining to some blog about how I don't know what to do. It hardly seems productive, but I honestly can't come up with anything else to do. My boyfriend is probably tired of hearing about it (scratch the probably), and my pets usually just respond with poop and twitching.
So, All Knowing Internet, what the hell should I do? Because right now, it doesn't look good and my plan of eating chips and watching Jimmy Kimmel is only going to get me as far as tonight.
