The Wastepaper Basket

What is it that I’d like out of life?

For the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to take a good, hard look in the mirror. I keep getting distracted on chin hairs.

I’m a very little person. I can take my wins when they come, but I haven’t done very much with my life yet. I don’t think it’s a bad thing to be disappointed with your life. It’s an unpopular opinion, one that’s usually met with some welling meaning pats on the back, or well-meaning words to instill self confidence. It’s hard to tell people that at this moment, I think I’m just the level of confidence that I should be. I have the ability to work hard, but I’m still unemployed. I’m great at making new friends, but not so good at staying in touch. I try. I fail. A lot of times I forget to shower. I think I’m alright– and I’m confident that I’ve got a laundry-list of reasons to make my life better.

As of yet, I have five months of my year unscheduled. My summer is happily booked already, with a job, and people, that I really love. I’m thankful to have a home away from home… but summer is a long ways away, and before I know it, it’ll be over. 

Missouri has always been a purgatory for me. I like having a home to come back to– my mother likes to see me when she comes home from work, and my father likes to make me coffee, and doesn’t say anything when I spend most of the day on the couch. But for the past two years, I’ve ended up in Missouri four different times. Every time is a stumble, a re-write, a bleary eyed “visit” that stretches from weeks to months. I’m always welcomed her. But this is going to be the last time.

It’s been a chaotic time here on the farm. Quiet days, but a loud mind. Most mornings I’ve been waking up at eight, wishing that my mother was still in the house and that Dove wasn’t. On Sundays we go to church, an episcopalian parish with eight members, counting myself. I think I’d go less if it wasn’t a good excuse to get some time away from Dove. We’re both trying to make a better life for ourselves, in our own way. Dove has decided to find a new career path, outside of music or education. I’m not sure why– I don’t really know what it is that Dove wants out of life. For now, they’re studying, turning my childhood room into a personal university. Their branch of study, AI systems, mathematics, tech internships, coding– makes my dad really happy. My parents are both stubbornly set on the idea that they have a son, though I know this is their way of trying. My dad hasn’t been one for feelings– at least not in the usual sense. Never let him give you a pep talk; one of you will end up confused in the end. 

But my dad’s never gotten to share anything with Dove, from a very young age. Music, the arts, composition, violin, the classics; that was Dove. Out of all of us, I think the only one to turn out the way they planned was Isaac. Sweet, earnest, steady-career heterosexual, churchgoing Isaac. Mariah would be second in line with fulfilling expectations– she’s dated men, and is finishing up a degree, in a school close to home no less. I’m not sure where I sit on the level of expectations. Though I dropped out, and am still either aimless or lofty in my endeavors, I talk to my parents. 

This is has gotten much more depressing than I had hoped.

My struggling over the past few weeks has been finding a balance. I have five months to work, and then the summer. When the summer is over, I’m going to try to move to New York. No rushing back to the soft, fluffy wings of the Missouri forest. At age 22 (almost 23 by then) I’m going to get an apartment, a job, and try and “make it.” It’s the one thing that my mother has really worried about. Dropping out of school, flying overseas, getting medicated, living with strangers, volunteering without pay… but to live in New York. And worse; to try out for the movies.

I try and convince myself that this is the best timing for me to pursue this dream. If I had gone straight after school, I would have been to naive to be safe. This way I’ve had the chance t travel, the chance to make friends, the chance to know myself. These are the things we tell ourselves so we can fall asleep– but the reality is, I’ve always wanted this dream. Not to “Make it big,” but just the opportunity to TRY.

But I was talking about the balance. 

Five months– what I SHOULD be doing is working. Every day I apply to jobs, easy jobs, far reaching jobs, part time, live in, remote, even the Walmart in town. I’ve yet to hear back from a single one, and the worry has gotten at me. I don’t think the Dove situation has made it much easier.

To worry and and worry and worry– how much of my life will I devote to this mistress of mine?

My problem has been that I see my future so VERY clearly. I can see exactly who I’d like to be at 40. At 60. At 80. But I keep trying to listen to people along the way. I’ve always taken advice without a single grain of salt. (yet another reason that I shouldn’t have tried to make it 2 years ago) We all want to be liked– my way has just been a little more blatant than others. My mother said that I should study Literature instead of creative writing in school, so along I hopped. I was told that I should Au-pair, that I should teach, that getting married young was beautiful, and having kids young was even better. It’s been a mangled few years, trying to step out of all this rubble. Not because I didn’t know what I wanted– but that the dream for my future hadn’t been somebody else’s idea.

My mother told me, a few times, that she worried me being around “film people.”

“It’s an evil place– and a lot of evil people.”

I told myself that I could make my way to film, as long as it was a christian mission. That made a lot of people happy. If I made movies without being “one of those people” then I’d be alright. I promised myself I’d get there when I had figured it out– how to hide my desire into something that made people happy.

Here I am again, back at the drawing board. 

I’m not very educated– I’ve got a high school diploma from a homeschool education, something that’s hard to put on a transcript, but that I’m actually quite proud of. I studied latin, classic literature, read Homer and Keats, learned to bullshit my way through a basic level of philosophy, and I know that Mexico isn’t a floating Island, and europe isn’t a country. But no degree– I think it would hurt me less if it hurt my mother less. Soon I’ll be the only kid that doesn’t have on in our family– Dove is working on a career change at 26, Mariah set to graduate early and jump into the world of Master’s. Jealousy is a pretty acidic emotion, but I’ve come to the conclusion that we’re all a little buoyed by it. If jealousy gets me a steadier job, I’ll allow myself to use it. 

I’ve been making new thing recently- putting off finishing the book, really. One of the perks of living at home at this age is my mother doesn’t mind that I spend most of the day cooking. It makes me feel useful– the other day I woke up at 7:00 (5:00 AM in Honor time) to make her homemade grits. Yesterday I candied orange peels and made syrups, rose, ginger, orange vanilla. I’ve been trying to keep in touch with friends– listen to new music– this month I’ve read 2 new books. I’m staying up late making collages and watching old movies. And today I really sat down and tried. I’d love to be smarter. Wittier. I guess what I’m really asking for is to mean something. I’ve never heard of someone as stupid as me really doing something with their life. Maybe it’s self hate– but is it really so bad if it makes me a little more educated?

Pastry school. Teaching certificate. Folklore studies. Journalism. TEFL Certificate. Modeling. Psychology. Addiction services. Illustrating. Writing– ASL. German. Roller Skating. My phone is beginning to explode with all my searches of how to make what I love a real job. How to have a future and not throw myself off a building. But still, I worry. How can I put so much time, so much money, into studying, and then go to work in film? 

I don’t really know anybody like me. The only thing to comfort me is to know that, at some point or another, all of us have said this.

So this is my plan: I’ve found a few free courses, and I’m going to try my hand at living a contended life. I’ll try my hardest to work, I’ll finish the novel, but I’ll read nonsense, write nonsense, and study what makes me happy. I always worry about eating up time, wasting time, throwing away time, but the time is leaving me, anyway, isn’t it? I think one of my biggest regrets is letting myself be constrained by these silly nonverbal constructs. I’m so finished with living by invisible cues– if nobody has ever gone to pastry school while working in addiction services while writing children’s books, I’ll be the first. If it’s unheard of for americans to become welsh teachers, then I’ll go make history. I’m going to be the person who keeps making stuff. This year I’ll get better at my anatomy drawing– I’ll take that free welsh course, try stand-up comedy, and I’ll dance to exercise because FUCK pilates. I’m going to move to New York and apply to kitchens and hostels and hotels, illustrative agencies, roller skating nightclubs, dog walkers, community theatres and nursery schools. I’m becoming a better cook, day by day. I’m creating beautiful things. I don’t what I am, and I sure as hell have days where I don’t think I can stand being in the same room as myself. But here I am.

“How bold one gets, when one is sure of being loved.”