What Happens Then?
I’m entirely afraid of the future.
Not that I won’t get into college.
Not that I won’t get to do what I want to do.
Not that my grades won’t be good enough.
But I’m afraid of not being young.
I’ve wanted to leave this town since I was in the sixth grade. Go to New York or California. I’ve asked my mom countless times if we could move. She always said that I could leave for college. And that’s always been my plan.
But what’s going to happen when I miss my parents and have to get on a plane to come home? What’s going to happen when I think about my friends here in Texas, and we lose touch? You always think that you won’t, but you will. What will happen when I need my sisters, and they’re busy working, being adults? When they start families?
What’s going to happen when I’m not a teenager anymore?
I’m afraid of not being able to mess up. These years in our lives are built for mistakes. You’re supposed to mess up and then you’re supposed to learn. But it’s not the same when you are an adult- a mistake is just a mistake. What happens when you’re on your own, and a mistake is just a mistake? I’m afraid of making a big mistake.
I’m afraid of not being a daughter anymore. Of course, I’ll always be a daughter. But I won’t be a kid, will I? One day, maybe I will have a daughter. Will I still be a daughter then?
I’m afraid of changing directions. I know I will do so many things, and I will change. But what happens if my eyes aren’t straight ahead anymore? What happens if I walk straight off the path? Who will save me? Will I even want to be saved then?
I’m just afraid. Because I’ve always known what I wanted. But what if I’ve wanted the wrong thing this whole time? Will I finally reach the top of the ladder just to realize it was leaning against the wrong wall? I’ve been afraid of that since 2015.
I know. It is normal to worry, to not know what is next. It’s ok to be afraid. But I just don’t want to be. I don’t want to be afraid of my next stage in life. I want to embrace it. Be excited for it, like the people that have just been dying to grow up their whole life. Do they have it easier in the long run?
There’s no solution here.
It’s a part of life, I guess.
All I can say is this: Maybe I’m not afraid. Maybe I’m excited. Maybe I’m ready. Maybe I’m just thankful. I really don’t know.