The other day I was playing a game of (Clean) Dirty Hearts with the gal pals, and I was asked where I saw myself in five years, then I went out on Sunday and was asked where I saw myself in ten years, and my boss wants to know where I see myself in twenty years.
My honest answer? I. Don't. Know. In five years, I'll be the dreaded thirty. Interestingly enough, it doesn't bother me. Won't it be refreshing to stand firm in the comfort of a solid identity? Or will I continue to ask myself where my life is heading? If you'd asked me a year ago (heck six months ago) where I saw myself in five years, I would have seen myself as a married mother of 3.5 children. But now I'm not sure I want that. I want to fall in love again. I know I want that, but who knows if that will be in the next five years or in the next eighty? I want to pulse with anticipation when a certain person pulls into my driveway (who will that person be?). I want to share the morning paper with someone over shitty cereal. I want to make out on a beach, on a ferris wheel, in the back of a truck/car/boat. I want to laugh with someone until my side aches. I want to do all of this and more, but I don't know if I want to marry again until I'm 50 (or ever).
and if I'm confused about where I'll be in five years, I'm even more at a loss with the ten year timeline. I'd like to have a Roth IRA that is performing. I'd like my networth to be over $100,000. I'd like to go to Greece, maybe get a master's degree, finish my poetry project.
I'm turning twenty five in a short 13 days, and I'm faced with this question again: what am I doing with my life? I keep waiting for an answer, for something to hit me in the face and say WHAM! THIS IS WHAT YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE DOING. But all I can focus on is the fact that I'd like to make and eat a chocolate pie. So that's what I'm going to do in my next 25 years. I mean, not make the pie (well I probably will bake), but follow all of my heart's healthy desires.