The feeling you get in your stomach before stepping onto an escalator or into a revolving door sets up permanent residence during your twenties. You have to keep with the flow. You don’t want to be the one that misses the first stair–smacks right into the door. Every step before you is carefully calculated, dreaded.
To you at least. Everyone else seems to have it mastered; the art of stepping in, stepping up. You don’t. Before you even try your mind is filled with terrifying scenarios you’re convinced are about to come true. If only you could take the damn elevator, skip it all, including this dumb metaphor.
The hot mess of a metaphor I just tried to convey is my attempt at expressing how it feels to be among peers that are getting real jobs, marrying their loves, creating babies. They seemingly took off their cap and gowns after graduation and stepped right into the next phase of their lives. I applaud that. I envy that. I definitely didn’t do that.
Instead, I feel like I’m merely an older version of the person I was 6 months ago when I received my degree. Nothing else has changed. Well, I moved across the world again. But sometimes I wonder if I maybe I moved again because it bought me more time to figure out what to do post-university. It bought me time, but it didn’t slow down anyone else’s clocks.
Rather, I am a million miles away, reading updates about how so-and-so just got a raise and your dog’s cousin’s best friend just got married to her best friend.
I’m trying to convince myself it’s ok to take a differenet route, a different staircase. But it’s hard to keep myself convinced daily.
So instead, I’m just trying to convince myself that it’s ok to feel scared, anxious–eager even. Some days all that matters is that you feel anything at all.
Even if you feel like writing a terrible, terrible metaphor for a blog post.