22

It’s weird. Being 22 in todays climate is weird. More likely, being 22 in any climate is weird. It feels like everyday is spent contemplating many daunting questions — who am I? Am I a good person? How can I know whether or not Im happy if Im not sure who I am? If I am free to choose whoever I want to be then is there really someone I am meant to be or is it all based on random events and unguided decisions? — just to come to some short-handed conclusion which is to be forgotten in minutes and so the cycle continues. It’s terrifyingly easy to get caught up in these rather existential thoughts and even easier to forget to zoom out and check the bigger picture.

The bigger picture: Im 22 (young), healthy, privileged, *happy,* loved and (by the very same logic that everything matters) nothing matters.

Im not sure if its the coffee causing my severe dissociation this morning or perhaps a restless night but nonetheless, here I am writing in hopes that putting these thoughts into words will help to make sense of them or serve as some form of restitution. Working? (So far) no.

From my adventures in self-exploration I have learned that it is limiting to give yourself a construct for which you identify by (ex. “I am an un-happy, middle-aged divorcee who likes peanut butter and hates the gym.”). Apparently once you create these narratives for yourself, you tend to limit your reality to the confides of these stories. Makes sense I suppose. The problem is, I cant help but want so badly to give myself such a narrative which illustrates every fibre of my being in an easily digestible elevator pitch. In fact, that sounds like the most comforting thing I could think of. If I could accurately do that, then wouldn’t I have answers to all my questions? I suppose I could try it out just to see but before even starting Im already all too cognizant of the fact that I cant do it because I don’t yet know. Beyond trivial facts — I love Nutella and don’t care for peanut butter unless in a smoothie — I am severely unable to describe who I am as a person. I believe this to be the root of my discomforts.

Of course, this could be an incredibly mistaken diagnosis. In fact, I am almost certain that an hour from now I will think this to be a ridiculous reading of my thoughts.

So here I am, back at the start.