I just got done crying. I’m seventeen, and I’m already worried about my life. I feel like I am stuck in this infinite loop of responsibilities that must comply to the standards of someone else; in which I completely disregard the truth of my feelings. I can lie and break a smile with the customer. I can have a genuine conversation, but many are unriddling with the script that’s embedded in my brain from the near three years that I’ve worked currently.
I got a call from my manager earlier today, and I—of course—agreed to become the helping member of society to (quote by manager) “make an extra few bucks in the bank account.” How fulfilling. Minimum wage, financially dependent, and not happy with the position I’m in.
My passion is helping people. Not bagging groceries. I’m absolutely certain there’s so much for me in this world, but I’m frustrated that I haven’t taken action in considering what my future holds.
People always tell me “You’re so young, you should focus on school now and work later.” Well, guess what? If I don’t fucking focus on my passions, on my ambitions, on my financial security, on the mental health that gets subconsciously drained from the impending eight hours of walking around the parking lot and inside the building, I’ll have nothing. I’ll have more responsibilities, less time to work around the 9-5 scheme, and I’ll just wonder why I didn’t take a shot in the dark, see what’s deserving of my abilities.
A year from now, I will not work there. Maybe less. I need to start something, but sometimes you don’t know what that something is. If I can’t help myself first, how do I help others?
I’m going to do big things.
Maybe these tears were worth it.
Maybe that call was the malleability of fate.
“Consummation at last.”
And in the end, I still love you. There’s a lot that I have to show and a little I have to overcome. It’s life. Don’t be hard on yourself. Keep pushing.