I find myself feeling of late that I am on the path to nowhere. It's not to say that I can't foresee success down this particular road or that there is nothing good at the end of this journey, but rather that this path is leading me nowhere I thought I'd be. I always imagined myself getting away from this place for a few years, proving that I can survive alone in New York, London, L.A., Chicago, Washington D.C., even Atlanta, making money changing this world in even some miniscule way, and then returning to my small, rural hometown to raise a family. I wanted to be a writer, an artisit, a powerful businesswoman. I can still be these things, just not the way I thought I wanted it.
The past few years have forced me into staying here. My family and I are much too close for me to be any substantial distance away from them. I allow them to guilt me into compromising all of my desires for my life. Moreover, I have a man I plan to marry in the next three years here. He is a firefighter, so taking him along on my "dream" life adventure is not necessarily realistic...and that would be a significant modification to the plan in itself. So I suppose I've come to the realization that my life journey is officially and permanently altered. Instead of those things I imagined myself being and doing, I will be the girl who married her high school sweetheart, started a family in her mid-twenties, got a decent job, and lived unexceptionally ever after.
Although it is not of an intellectual capacity, it will hopefully give me something of which to be proud. I cannot sit here and even insinuate that I didn't want this path, too or that I find anything in the world more important than raising my own family. Rather, I guess I simply find it easier to blame my loss of hope for my dreams on circumstances than my own desires. There will always be that other path that I didn't take...it would be the same if I did move far, far away from here. I would always think, "What if I had stayed?" I just hope that in ten years regret will stop haunting me long enough to enjoy the life I'll be leading.
Sitting here in this moment, I realized that I make my deepest fears and secrets globally public with the intense, subconscious hope that someone I know will stumble across these words and, for the first time in almost twenty years, I'll be understood. I am not the kind of individual to ever let sadness, fear, apprehension, vulnerability, or burden show. I bear all of this alone. I think it's a responsibility. Other people in the world simply choose to neglect their responsibilities. In that sense, I have some of the most irresponsible friends in existence. I am the one who must hear every "woe is me" story, day in and day out. I must bear my own burdens, secrets, and fears in addition to theirs. And this is expected of me. But I have always felt the acute need to prove, if only to myself, that I can at least handle my own emotions. I fear vulnerability and imperfection. That's why in some sense it would be such a relief for someone to hear me...minus the walls I put up, minus their own needs. Just their open mind and my blatantly honest words. I've always been in the middle of a crowded room screaming at the top of my lungs, yet no one has ever taken notice. All I want is to turn even one head...