26 going on 40

I feel emotionally immature. I have always been seen as more mature than my age, older than I am, wiser even, if you will. Maybe it isn’t that I’m emotionally immature, maybe it is that the people I have started being around more, one a former co-worker, another a musician friend I met recently, are 39 and 40, respectively. That is 14 years of life experience on me. 14 years of dealing with relationships, with people, with the world as an adult. I believe I’m justified in feeling immature, but I am trying to reconcile that there isn’t anything wrong with that. I am 26, I am living in a major city for the first time in my life, trying to figure out how relationships, friendships, acquaintances, how all of it honestly works. This is mostly difficult for me, or incredibly simple, because I believe in honesty; probably too much. I am also living in the after effects of the biggest relationship in my life, and I am trying to figure out how to not jump so head first into things. How to play games that humans think are necessary… I have never been the type of person to have a bunch of good friends. I have good friends and these people I have to warm up to or I just connect with. Mostly, no, all of my friends now are the latter. I meet people, there’s a connection - we’re instant friends. 

Normally I don’t have any issues with age. That is probably one reason why I’ve become friends with the people I have. Age is whatever; more important is the connection. My only fear is that I am trying to stop being 26, to act as though I have experiences that I don’t, knowledge that I don’t… and my bright eyed curiosity about the world is no longer endearing but damaging. 

I am far too difficult on myself though. If I were really emotionally immature these people would not talk to me, hang out with me, and pursue my friendship just as much as I pursue them. Sure, I have some things to learn still, but I think that is endearing.

an email that turned into something... bigger

Four years ago I applied for an environmental internship in the Southern California desert. It was supposed to be a break from school after graduation and before grad school. My big plan was to take that year off and then go into grad school somewhere to get my Master's of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. Then, the plan was to teach and write, write and teach and live happily ever after. But, I fell so in love with that lifestyle, the community, the feeling of actually impacting and helping the world that humans, some other group of humans, impacted in such a negative way. I loved sleeping under the stars, rising with the sun, even the horrible wind storms, the way the heat was intense and it hung on every molecule in the air, but wasn't sweaty hot like Florida. I fell in love with the desert. So I found my way back, another internship, this time growing plants for Joshua Tree National Park. That experience was different, a different type of community, less camping and more drama. Ah, drama, I always seem to find it and somehow it seeps into my nice, happy life. In the end, I think all of the drama helps me to become the person I should be, whom I want to be, and less of the one I don't. After Joshua Tree I started traveling, trail work, and that whole community, sleeping under the stars, working with my hands, getting dirty and being happy beyond belief. That is what I think of when I think happy. The dirt, the community dinners, the stars, camping, even the rainy, cold days and nights, swinging tools, cutting down trees, building bridges, steps, improving or creating something for others to enjoy and also to protect the land.

But at the time, most of the time, I didn't realize i was happy. Hindsight casts a golden glow on everything. I also think that happy means so many different things and it can change daily, weekly. I am happy to be where I am. I am happy to not have real responsibilities, to sometimes just go about things where I don't really have to worry about anything. I'm healthy, young, capable, damn smart, even wittier than I am smart, and pretty fucking awesome (if I do say so myself). But this whole happy thing... I wonder if it is ever really attainable. I've been thinking about this whole "what am I going to do when I grow up" scenario for awhile, trying to figure out what will make me "happy" what will be fulfilling, satisfying, and terrifying as hell all in one. I think, I believe I will always be the same girl I was when I was 11, when I first started writing, when I spent the summer writing in my basement, writing the only full novel I've ever written and that is now lost forever. It was saved on 3 1/2 floppy disks, and one of those got corrupted or lost, or something. I would wake up, go downstairs in my pjs, and write all day. Not a care in the world, my mom or dad would open the door and tell me when food was ready, and eventually I would go upstairs, get dressed, eat, and go outside for awhile. I think that was happiness.

Do I need a Master's to write? No. Do I want to teach writing? Maybe? Will it be hard work to basically create a portfolio after not really writing for 4 years? Yes, yes, yes. I also think it will be worth it. But (there's always a but...) I think that I don't necessarily have to be that 11 year old. I think I can be someone else, just as I never thought I would work doing environmental work and trail work for 3 years, maybe in a year or a few months my life will be completely different. I'm not sure if I believe in there being a path, but I do think that things happen for a reason, that we aren't just floating along.

So, I will start writing again. Put together a portfolio, take the GRE, and apply to some graduate programs. What do I have to lose?