The end of something or the beginning of something else.

So being the procrastinator that I am, I have put off writing for what seems like an age and a day. I could blame academics, I could blame life. I could blame a lot of things. 

But really, I only have myself to blame. 

So, when my final week of college rolled around this week–with a whimper, not a bang–I decided I really had no alternative than to write, as a means of procrastination from finals and to try and come to terms with the fact that I’m done. 

I just don’t feel like I am yet. 

Over the last few months, I’ve been talking to different people (shocking, I know. Someone who uses the internet more than is socially acceptable being sociable? What is happening to the world?!) and the same phrase has been used over and over:

I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.

And it struck me: even though we are expected to know from such a young age (I remember being told I would amount to nothing when I hadn’t determined my career trajectory at the age of 16), we never truly know and just guess.

Then I came to the realisation that maybe the only way to know what I want to do with my life is to know myself better…and that I hardly know myself at all.

 The pre-teen angst revelations aside, I actually discovered something: I’m young. I have years to discover who I am, whether I’m working or not and should just enjoy life for what it is at the moment and things will work out and play out how the may. 

“Someone once told me the grass is much greener on the other side”…

I’m interested to see where those greener pastures lay, but until then I’m quite content just trying to figure out how to find the path to discover them. 

 

 

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