I remember growing up and envisioning my future. I saw a multitude of possibilities that ranged from pop singer straight out of a Britney Spears music video to a stay-at-home mom. I saw myself as a professional athlete, fashion designer, business woman, and everything in-between. Like Barbie, I thought I could do it all. As a kid, the whole dream house was in front of me and the opportunities were limitless.
At 21, the possibilities and opportunities have been decreased significantly.
I came to the realization that just because I wanted to do something, it doesn’t always mean that I could. Time taught me that my singing voice isn’t pop-sensation ready. My restlessness and dislike of small children taught me that being a stay-at-home mom probably isn’t the best decision. I was slowly realizing that hard work doesn’t always pay off, and that there isn’t a gold star for every good deed.
My ten-year-old self would be incredulous at the reality of my 21-year-old self. She wouldn’t even recognize the woman I am today. It is hard to say if that small, rambunctious girl would be proud of me or utterly disappointed. I have to think a little bit of both.
I constantly get questioned about my future from almost everyone I have a conversation with and I find it one of the most difficult questions to answer.
Because I don’t know.
I have no idea what path I want to settle down onto because I want to do it all. That little girl is still in me somewhere stirring up any part of me that wants to settle. I do not settle, on anything, for anything, for anyone.
Instead, I focus on other things. I focus on anything I can that has nothing to do with the future.
Maybe that’s unhealthy. Maybe that’s normal. Maybe I’m just scared.
That’s it. I’m scared. Not just scared, but terrified. Terrified to waste time on something I might come to loathe. Terrified that I won’t be able to do everything. Terrified that I have somehow made it to 21 years old and I feel as if I have accomplished nothing.
Where did the time go? When did the skin around my eyes start to crinkle when I smile? When did I start feeling so tired, all of the time?
People always tell me I’m young. But I can’t help but feel like the time is flying by faster than my brain can comprehend. My body says 21, my heart and soul say 10.
I’m trying to act like I know what I’m doing. Like I have my shit together. I tell people what they want to hear: what I’m studying, what my plan is for after graduation, how I expect to make money. But the more I speak of this plan, the more it feels fake, forced, and improbable.
It’s just a story. A story of a girl who has life figured out. But that story is a lie. The older I get, the better I become at lying. Maybe not so much lying as just giving people the story they want. I’ve learned how to give people what they want. How to show the parts of you that they’ll like and how to hide the parts that they won’t.
Humans have this odd obsession with trying to not be human. We hide the fact that we don’t wake up with a face full of makeup and perfectly styled hair. We’re embarrassed with our own bodily functions and the way we look. We’re embarrassed to be human and to have flaws. Even though I’m aware of how absurd that is, I still hide it. I still hide the bags under my eyes, I cover the blister on my hand with a band-aid, wear clothes that will specifically hide the fact that I sweat, and douse myself with fragrances to cover the scent that I was born with.
It’s ludicrous what we put ourselves through to hide our humanity. I was taught throughout my life to show people only specific parts of me. Not the natural, unsure, and scared parts. The parts that show the world that I truly am just human.
I wish that time would just slow down. Like the way it feels when you’re sitting in your least favorite class right before the end of the school day. You watch as the hand on the clock clicks every line indicating the seconds.
tick. tick. Tick.
It feels like it has been 20 minutes when in reality it has only been 20 seconds. Or the way the world seems to come to a pause in the small amount of time before the start of a race. The crowd becomes a noiseless background. You swear you can feel every inch of your body, and every pump of your heart as it courses the blood and adrenaline through your veins.
thump. thump. thump.
I wish I had time to figure things out. I wish I wasn’t scared of my future.
My name is Johanna Murray. I’m 21 years old and I know who I am, but I don’t know what I want. And that is a dangerous combination.