I am no stranger to time. Its shadow follows me around, lurking behind every corner, in each crack on the sidewalk, each star in the sky. I am no stranger to the blanket of darkness that seems to settle on not only the world but myself each fall, nor am I stranger to the transition of a new beginning each spring. However this year, time has made itself known in increasingly glaring places, walking beside me and matching my footsteps, rather than hiding in the shadows as it usually does.
“You’re getting older!” my friend says as the symphony of party blowers and noisemakers go off in the background. The “Happy Birthday” song drones on in the background, stuck on loop. I’ve never liked that song. My friends chatter amongst themselves, the attention somehow on me but also everywhere else at the same time, leaving me in a bubble that everyone can see through. They’re waiting for me to react.
It’s been one minute of my 21st year on this earth and the instant weight of my new reality has already crashed down upon me. There was always an overarching, looming, sliver of this feeling hovering above me, getting slightly closer and closer with each passing year. I’ve anticipated its fall for a while — I thought that when it finally came, I would’ve been properly prepared for it. After all, that’s the only benefit to being a chronic overthinker — there’s already a plan in place for every scenario.
This does not seem to be the case.
“Thank you guys,” I say with a smile on my face, hoping that no one can see past the facade. I glance at the clock; somehow only two minutes have passed, despite it feeling like I’ve already experienced the entirety of my upcoming year.
“So what’s next?” someone asks. The words shoot through me like a bullet, piercing my heart, narrowly missing my lungs. It starts to settle, making itself at home, seeping into all the cracks that line my soul.
I take a deep breath, a sigh of exhaustion leaves me. “For now, it’s bedtime,” I laugh lightly, but my mind is firing at a million miles a second.
What’s next? My friend’s voice rings in my head. What’s next, what’s next, what’s next falls into a loop. A mantra. A prayer of sorts.
In all honesty, I don’t know what’s next. For the past few months, I’ve only been able to plan out one day at a time, two if I’m lucky. Growing up was a distant goal, a far reach seemingly a million miles away. Today, it’s fallen into my lap and I do not know what to do with it.
What’s next?
Somehow without me knowing, I’ve gone from 15-years-old and just learning to drive to a legal, fully formed, adult, studying in a state 900 miles from home. I’ve created a community of people who stay up with me on my birthday to be the first ones to wish me. I’ve decided what I want to study, what I want to pursue.
What’s next?
I’ve always been a very detailed-oriented person, it’s something I pride myself on. The chipped paint on the wall, the pushpin placed slightly to the left, the smallest change in color; these are all the things that I’ll take notice of. I’ve always been a planner — maybe it’s the constant anxiety needing to prepare for the worst case scenario or maybe it’s because of my need for structures and routines.
However I have not paid attention to the fine details of my life, nor have I planned it out. They say you don’t really need a plan, that no one really knows what’s next. But for someone who relies on the patterns, consistency, and plans of life to maintain a baseline level of peace, the lack of a plan feels as if someone has thrown me into space, my body simply a vessel to reach a blackhole.
What’s next?
I’m no stranger to time. It had followed me around, lurking behind me, revealing more and more of its shape as each year, week, day, hour, minute, second passes. The funny thing about time is that it seems to be never ending, yet there is never enough. What a strange conundrum.
What’s next?
The version of me that carefully curated my “Growing Up, Old, & Out” playlist no longer exists. My baby brother is no longer a baby and my once young puppy now walks with a limp and can no longer jump on my bed. My mom’s back hurts more often than not and my dad’s hair has started to gray, and the world has just kept on spinning, day after day, year after year.
What’s next?
What do I do with the knowledge of my existence, of my soul, of my life that has been collecting since my eyes first opened and oxygen first hit my lungs? Where do I go with the weights on my shoulders and the chains on my legs that tie me to the past? What do I do with the time in front of me, with the life in front of me?
What’s next?
Maybe I’ll make a big contribution to the world, having my name in TIME Magazine. Or maybe I’ll live a quiet life, tucked away in the far corners of the woods. Perhaps I will continue on with this dream of mine until it becomes another forgotten story, or maybe I’ll find a new dream, a new passion, a new purpose.
Or maybe I’ll just buy a cup of coffee.
What’s next?
The world is officially my oyster.
What isn’t next?