Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing with my life. There are times when I want nothing more than to drop everything and leave to visit some far-away, romantic place where I can find myself. Which is a ridiculous notion, altogether, come to think of it. I'm right here. No need to go gallumphing half-way around the world looking for myself. Although, the trip would be nice.
Other times, I think of finding a job at a bookstore or something, an average job with an average wage and an average work load, saving my money for the wild adventures conjured up in my free time, which free time I would spend reading and writing and drawing and doing all of those things that I'm always wanting to do and never having the time for.
And then, still, there is the idea of graduate school, doing research and defending theses and busting my rear end just so that I can turn around and start again from the other side of the room, standing by the whiteboard. It doesn't sound so glamorous that way, does it? Sometimes I feel like grad school is the real cop-out, like I'm so afraid of facing the real world that I've constructed this idea in my head that I need to stay in school forever, like I belong here. But what if I don't? What if closeting myself in a study to do research and grade papers is all it amounts to? I know this is all quite melodramatic, and I know that teaching is more than what I've painted it to be here, but that nagging question continues to echo in my head: What if?
What if my life doesn't end up like Meg Ryan's character in "You've Got Mail," or any number of female leads in any number of chick-flicks? Yes, I know it's sentimental and ridiculous. Yes, I know that it's girlish and pathetic to want someone like a young Tom Hanks to show up at my door with a hand-full of daisies, tucking me in and wanting to be my friend. But I still want it.
Anyway, you've had enough of my rambling, I'm sure. So, good night! And perhaps next time I write, I will be a bit more lucid and a bit less dramatic.
