I was out taking part in said drunken antics one night last week, when a friend and I lost the group, and ended up sitting and talking for a while. Somehow, and the links to this conversation have been deleted so completely in my memory that I can only imagine the elaborate pathway of dialogue which occurred, things got kind of deep. We ended up chatting about the impermanency of life, the inconsistency of opportunity and the valuable time we are inevitably wasting at this ridiculous stage of our lives. It didn't make me feel good. He, however, an actor, seemed full of promise. Plans for auditions and projects and ideas about what he hoped to achieve. I sat nodding with a stony expression. While I was pleased he had found this sense of direction and admirable optimism regarding his future career, I felt at the same time overwhelming urgency: what am I going to do? When should I start doing this? Where am I going to do it? And more than anything, how can I be good enough at it and will I ever be content with it? I truly felt like the only satisfactory option at that point in time was to get up, put my life-threateningly high yet undeniably beautiful stilettos back on, go home, and start fulfilling my completely vague life's plans before it became too late.
It's just not reasonable though. I guess this part of life is not ridiculous; no part should be. I have actually found some comfort in thinking of these years as a kind of limbo- a transitionary stage which should be lived, cherished, and remembered, but maybe not taken so seriously. It's pointless planning meticulously for a long future which is never going to be guaranteed. A sense of direction is something to strive for, but under no circumstances something to settle for too soon with an uncertain mind. I'll keep looking for my direction. I think I might just stick to doing so sober from now on, though.
