I had a long chat with Scoo today, about life and purpose and so on. In the past few months I’ve written dozens of posts in my head around the theme but never had the balls to put em out in writing because fuck that’s so scary I can’t even begin to deal with it unless I don’t look at it.
Anyway, here I am, nearly thirty and quite happy about it. But here I am, nearly thirty and extremely directionless. And I’m terrified. I really am. I know its supposed to be exhilarating and exciting to not know where you are going. The books and the movies and the married and settled people never cease to tell us so. But it terrifies me.
It terrifies me that for the past three years I have been trying so very hard to acquire focus, a goal, SOMETHING to make me feel like my life is more than an endless string of weekends and summer jobs strung together pretending to be a grown-up life.
Is it merely a question of being too lazy to go for what I really want? I don’t know, but I do know that I don’t know what I really want to do with my life, beyond things like open a cafe and raise a family.
And now, I’m having that panic attack I’ve been trying to avoid.