Well, sweet readers, I am back from Las Vegas with only minimal scarring. lawlllllz. Just kidding-- it was an absolutely incredible trip and I couldn't be more grateful to have gone and done Sin City with mi madre and main hoez in tow. We danced, gazed up at downtown lights, sat on the hottest of hot Aussies, saw the sights, drank the drinks, and managed to not end up incarcerated. Overall, I give this trip my twentysomething stamp of approval.
Now, I have a bundle of sorority sisters and hometown friends that have lived to tell their Vegas stories. But what everyone failed to mention is that there is totally something in the water. I have made this assumption about the tap water in Austin, TX on account that my grandfather, the truest of true Republicans, moved there and has molded into a raving Democrat. I could care less who he votes for...but if you knew the old man, you'd be thrown off too. But the LV water is not polluted with political agendas, or heroin, or chlorine. The water I swam in and drank from made me ... AFRAID.
Yes. I am admitting right now that I became a certified victim of FOMO (fear of missing out) this past weekend. I never thought I would be that girl ...ever. I never dreamed that I would be so wrapped up in being everything for everyone and never missing one event or drink or text. But shit sure enough, I got FOMO and I got it bad. I refused to be too hungover to function. I refused to not want to do something. I went to the pool even when I wanted to nap. I ran towards the stage when my Thunder from Down Under bf waved me up even though I was a ball of 5th grade "hes so hot" nerves. Why? Because of FOMO. It's real, people... just ask Taylor Jackson. Like clockwork, however, my horoscope chimed in Monday morning:
author side note: I am an incomplete, raging hot mess of a human if I don't read my horoscope each and every single morning. I don't know how the rest of the world functions without an astronomical guide to their day, but I fail miserably at it.
Here's what I started the week out with:
"Just like hopes and dreams, fears need to be fed to grow big and strong. Did you know that, Pisces? ... There is a fear in your heart now. It's a fear of failing again. It's a fear of being disappointed again. Don't feed that fear, Pisces. Don't indulge it. Don't treat it better than your hopes and dreams. Starve it and you will have everything you want."
"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HEAD. YOU DONT KNOWWWWW MEEEEEEE!!" is an accurate account of my reaction. But that was false...because the universe knows everything. It knows that like every other twentysomething, I am really am terrified (and it has nothing to do with agua in Nevada). At that moment, I was just scared that I would be hungover for the day or that I had slept through breakfast. Those are minimal fears, but I still gave into them ANNNNND never got a nap in (which I regret now). But the reality of it all is that I am terrified all day, errrrr day.
I am afraid of not making the most of this last year in college. I am afraid that something ridiculous will happen and I actually won't graduate on time despite taking a million classes this summer as safe measure. I am afraid that I won't be able to find the perfect person to replace me as nanny to the Nenon family. I am afraid that I will graduate and have ZERO job offers. No offense to my parents (this is just a formality because I know no offense will be taken), but I am afraid that I will have to move back home. I am afraid because I have no clue where the next chapter is going to take me. Sure... I have the PERFECT summer plan that includes that aforementioned Missourian best friend of mine, but that is just that...a summer plan. I am afraid that I am going to lose the relationships and people that I love so dearly when I close this collegiate chapter of my life. I am afraid of 145893479 things day in and day out.
BUT... above all, I am afraid that I am not going to do something with my life that matters.
And that's the kicker about us twentysomethings... we are so eager, so desperate to matter to the world. We want to make a difference, we want to make a mark, we want to leave a legacy. The chances of me curing cancer are... slim. The chances of me becoming the next Bill Gates... even slimmer. The chances of most people being legends are small, but what my generation is missing is this: what matters is subjective.
The chances of me doing fundraising and public relations for a nonprofit organization are actually pretty damn high. The chances of me getting married and raising a clan of my own, continuing the legacy of brilliant parenting instilled in me by Steph and Ray, are not out of reach. The chances that I stumble, fall, and pick myself over and over again are inevitable. And guess what? All of that matters. We, the Millenials, are insatiably compelled to matter. We want the world to take us seriously, to treat us like the adults we think we are. But what matters most is that we do whatever is it that is best us for individually...what makes us the happiest. We, as a generation, keep getting blamed for our selfish ways, but for the first time in my life... I'm jumping on this bandwagon. Being selfish is okay if that means you are taking charge of your own life, refusing to let The Man or anyone else kick your ass.
There's an old saying: "How do you get rid of a stray dog? Stop feeding it." So... stop being so damn scared all of the time. Stop worrying that you don't matter, that you won't matter. If you want to make a difference, BE the difference. Taking a stand for yourself in your own life is the single greatest thing you can do as a twentysomething. Stop feeding the strays. Stop feeding your fears. Starve them and you will be surprised at the happiness that blossoms.
...and if that doesn't work and you're still like "blahhh, poor me. my twentysomething life is such a mess and everything sucks and is so hard and i'm sad. blah.blah.blah" my advice to you? eat some pie. people that eat pie are 46% happier than people who don't.
(that's made up, but i bet you really want some pie now, weakling.)
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