Writing

Straight in the Eyes

As I’ve gotten older the idea of perfect people, perfect scenarios, perfect this, perfect that, has all slowly faded into some lukewarm shade of grey. You get older and you realize that some of the best feelings in the world aren’t a result of what you look like (or even what the person next to you looks like), what you’re wearing or whether your hair is done or not. In moments when you’re seeing something for the first time or accomplishing the one thing you’ve been working towards the moment itself doesn’t care what the color of your nails are.

What matters is life staring you straight in the eyes saying ‘this is for you’ or ‘I wanted you to see this’ or ‘you deserve this’. I’m not speaking for everyone on this one but the older I get the more humorous fairy-tales are. The idea of a prince and his princess, the idea of a white picket fence, happily ever after, these are all things that looked entirely different when I finally got to see them up close. Relationships aren’t perfect, a house isn’t always a home and there isn’t a pinpoint for happiness.

Imagine that, “Continue for 8 miles on Highway 1 then make a left and you’ll of had reached your destination: Happiness” then what? Everyone gets out the car and starts dancing to some bubbly song they all pretend to know the words to?

Happiness alongside expectations. Stability by 25, marriage and children by 30. This isn’t expected of everyone but I for one drove both my parents up a wall when I told them I wasn’t ready for college immediately after high school. Gone was their heart surgeon wanna be daughter who was now planing on moving far away instead of taking her SAT. I was dead set on what I came to find true—that there is something more out there, that the world is big and San Francisco is just one tiny place amongst the rest.

They’re proud now after a few airplanes and cities later. Yet, I still hold that close to me, how whether you’re 42 or 18 you can live out the kind of stories you fantasized, become the woman of your own dreams. How it’s the idea of how things are ‘supposed to be’ that dims you out. You will become, unravel and evolve into your own hues, your own edge, your own color, on your own canvas. No masterpiece is the same.

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