Going 20 On the Freeway
Transitions in life are as frequent as traffic, don’t you think? I mean, we can even plan for it just the same as we would for trying to get home after work right? We push the hours of our days around, we reschedule plans, we give ourselves buffer time to prepare for the bumper to bumper drive home. Maybe you even learn a back road just in case, or we fill you up your tank a little more that morning. We do all these little things to try and make it easier to navigate. Easier to get through.
Some transitions in life are the same. Planned around, expected, prepared for.
But the other days, transitions swerve around the curb of that blind corner and they hit us straight on.
No way to plan for it, no way to prepare. Maybe there isn’t even a way to get out of it. Sure, we might have heard the car slam on its brakes, honk its horn, screech its tires- but by the time those car headlights engulf you the most you can do is brace for impact. Suddenly, just as the glass shatters over the concrete you're packing a box or tossing a cap into the air, wearing a new ring or burying a loved one.
I name many times I have found myself bathed in headlights, wide eyed like a deer and holding my breath. Though many transitions in my life came as traffic, I absorbed them into my life with the intensity of a crash. Whether that be because of my tendency to feel everything at once or nothing for no one, or just the fact I’ve never been one for transitions- either way, the sound of a window shattering is familiar to me.
I graduated highschool pretty young in life, and was already starting my university path during my last year of it. By the time I was 16, I had just shy of a year's worth of college done, and the next thing I knew I now have a Bachelor’s before I'm legally allowed to drink the celebration.
On the surface, this seems like a wonderful feat. I even remember times when I was little I’d see in movies or shows the trope of the prodigy child, who was grades above their age level, or they were in college at such a young age. I never thought it would have been me (albeit not as dramatically, I'm fully aware I wasn’t that much younger, and that this is quite common nowadays).
I would share this with others, till the sharing became flaunting due to the reactions I got out of it. Shock, surprise, praise. Adults around me couldn’t believe it, and peers around me wished to be in my position, wanting to get out of school early, sharing with me how lucky I was. There was this shift in my mind when I took in their reactions. Like I mentioned, I only feel it all or never- and my never was turning into my all. If they believed I was special, that I was doing something right, that I was successful- well why the hell would I let them down now?
I was only speeding up wasn’t I? I had the advantage. I was ahead of the game. I was doing something right, and to me that's all I ever strived for.
Long story short, in the heat of my frenzy to prove them right those headlights came fast- and the cars didn’t stop coming. I fell hard, I fell quick. I fell over and over and I hated myself for it. I blamed myself for losing this imaginary advantage I had, I blamed myself for the damage I had taken, for the obstacles and disabilities produced from a teenage body trying to juggle things they never should have attempted to.
I had experienced first hand, the social pressure of a society built around:
worth = achievement.
worth = success.
worth = speed.
worth = special.
It took therapy, community college, and intense patience to pick myself back up and unlearn these lessons. Truth is, the unlearning follows me to this day. I still find myself drifting back to that mindset, like it's a bottled vice I can’t help but force myself to drink in an attempt to find praise or validation that I am doing something right. It surely doesn’t help that I’ve chosen to go into an industry that not only thrives on comparison, but also has the audacity to compare a type of work that relies on human passion and creativity, something I believe in a perfect world we shouldn’t even try to measure quantitatively. I just don’t think that's what our Mother intended.
But speaking of our Creator, I fear even I can’t resist the pull towards what they have in store for me, so in the end I find myself here, with a degree in Media Studies and still can't get a damn drink for it.
It's another life transition, a staple one at that. Yet I don’t find myself holding my breath. I don’t find my eyes widening once more. In fact I turn my head, and I see so many others in my life who are packing boxes, tossing their caps, wearing a new ring, burying a loved one. Reflecting as I write this, it's almost a little astonishing to know so many people are going through such different transitions at the same time as me. It makes me wonder if I was ever actually alone those last few times, or if I was too busy staring into those oncoming headlights.
Along with this, I find myself with no sense of urgency. Before, I would have been scrambling to plan my next few moves, overthinking and over-imagining where I was going to be by the end of this year. Pulling myself thin to try and make it happen, then berating myself when it didn’t go as planned. Even as early as last month, I would be beating myself up and calling myself lazy or unmotivated or wrong for not using every minute of my day doing something productive right now. But recently, I had an epiphany.
I was home, I had run away from my apartment I just paid for, I was back home in less than four days after graduation. I needed to get away from my stressors, and just give myself a week to breathe before I jumped back in and started “grinding” again. Just a week I told myself.
I had spent that week rotting, then complaining over rotting, then feeling guilty for complaining and rotting, then doing it all over again. About three days past my self set deadline, I was pacing the porch floor while my mother sat and watched the hummingbirds fight each other over the feeder.
I was frustrated because I was trying to get my wifi working, my bill portals set up, get someone moved in, email clients– I was tired, and I told my mom I didn’t even know why I was here. I had a whole new apartment five hours away, I wasn’t even unpacked. Why was I here? I needed to be doing something.
“You know it's okay to be in a transitional point of your life right now babe. You can be home for a bit, that’s what this time is for.”
I stopped. My breath hitched between a cry and a sigh of relief. It always does when my mother says something that my soul is begging to hear, but my mouth never knows how to ask for it.
I slowed down after that. I really slowed down. I recalled all the times I’ve had the pedal to the floor, the brakes cut, and nothing but movement on my mind. I recalled my past two years of college. I recalled everything I had achieved, rather than will.
And it finally hit me that I was only 20.
I ended up being home for ten days. My dad was out of town the week I had been home, and I stayed longer to see him before I left. I didn’t want to go back, but I couldn't stay either. I was convinced going back meant I had to push the pedal to the floor again. I was dreading unpacking, dreading not knowing what to do next. But it also meant the world was my oyster. Like momma said, this is what this time was for.
Since then, I’ve physically felt my foot fall off the gas. I’ve found myself desiring to wake up and create something, rather than wake up and accomplish a task. To enjoy this time, and let myself cruise. It made me realize that I was the one swerving that car around the corner, my iron grip behind the wheel, and my fear causing me to never let go.
I don’t know how long this feeling will last. I don’t even know if it will benefit me in terms of career, or professional development, or whatever this next step is supposed to be for someone like me. I can see other people whizzing past me. I'm happy for them. It's wise to plan for traffic and get a head start on the road.
But as for me, I'm going 20 on the freeway.
And I'm comfortable for now.
