Figuring it out or whatever

I thought I had my shit figured out a long time ago. I had my life after college planned out. I wanted what society has been telling my generation we should want since we were kids: multiple degrees, a stable job with a comfortable salary, a wife— you know, the works.

The more I worked toward those goals, I started to realize that I’m not cut out for that life. Not to say that I don’t have what it takes, though. In fact it’s the opposite: I got too much going for me to settle for a comfortable and easy life. What’s life without a challenge?

Who knows, maybe one day I’ll want all of that stuff. For now, I’m cool with the uncertainty. I’m cool with not knowing where I’ll be in three months’ time.

I used to think about the future non-stop, and endless anxious thoughts and voices filled my head with feelings of inadequacy and uncertainty.

“I need to figure out something to do after graduation.”

“Dave just got a job and a fat signing bonus, why am I not making that much money?”

“Elliot lives in the Bay right outside of San Francisco, meanwhile I live in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

These thoughts still pop up more than I’d like them to, but somewhere along the way I started not giving a shit about them.

Admittedly, I still pay too much attention to the people around me and unconsciously compare myself to people that are nothing like me. Most of the time it’s pretty easy to get those trash thoughts out of my head because I’m truly confident in myself now. Not even on some cocky shit, I just know these fuckboys can’t touch me.

It’s easy to think that I need to “figure it out” when I see people around me who have the next thirty years of their lives planned out to the most minute detail. And then I think about my dad who dropped out of college and didn’t do much besides smoke pot for six years. He figured his shit out, went back to school and got his bachelors, went on to med school at Washington University, and became a radiologist.

If my dad figured his shit out, I think I’ll be fine.

I honestly couldn’t tell you what I’ll be doing in five years, let alone five months—and that’s cool with me.

The uncertainty of my future doesn’t scare me anymore, it excites me to think about all of the possibilities. As long as I have enough cash to pay the bills, I’m cool.

But shit, who knows, I might just pull up to my ten-year high school reunion in that six speed and stunt on all you fools that ever doubted the kid. Or I might say fuck the reunion and subtly flex with an Instagram pic of my Saint Laurent boots hanging over my balcony that overlooks the Golden Gate Bridge.

More than likely, though, I won’t have the cash to buy a ticket back to Missouri because I’ll be living in a shithole apartment on the other side of the world.

That’s the dopest part of this post-grad life— I don’t have any plans, nor do I need any. Fuck a nine to five (shouts to my future employer, I work hella hard I swear). I need to do me and kick it for a minute.

I know I want to travel everywhere. I know I want to eat rare food. I know I want to meet dope people. That’s about all I can plan on doing long term. Even though I obviously think about the future, I’m not planning much. Fuck a five year plan.

As for short term plans, I leave for California tomorrow, if you haven’t heard by now. My uncle told me I could stay with him in San Luis Obispo, CA indefinitely.

Dope.

I’m packing up my clothes and a few personal items, and leaving St. Louis tomorrow morning. Don’t ask me what job I’m moving there for. Don’t ask me how long I’ll be there. Don’t ask me anything because I don’t know much.

I want to learn how to surf, so I think I’ll start with that.

Spend a week with my sister in LA? Why not.

Weekend trip up to Yosemite with George? Fuck yeah.

Concert in San Francisco? I’m too down.

I have no idea what I’m doing with my life—and that’s okay. I’ll figure it out.