Scurred

Okay, so I know Plan A is like five lightyears away (but actually six months), but I'm definitely thinking about it a lot more. As I should be. And it's freaking me out.

It's 8:30 in the morning and all I've been doing for the first hour of work is internally freaking out. For something six months away. And honestly, maybe I shouldn't have said anything to anyone. Maybe I should've just upped and left. Cause I was really fine before I started telling people who apparently wanted to play 21 Questions:

"That's great! Did you find a job?"
"No."
"Are you going to look for one now?"
"No."
"Do you know where you'll live?"
"No."
"Manhattan?"
"No."
"Oh."

It's not annoying in any way. It's just after two months of answering those questions, I'm kind of anxious, or really anxious. Omg, am I supposed to have a job lined up? Is it not normal to just go there? (Ah yes, that word "normal.") Is this really stupid of me? I guess it's a good thing to be aware of the non-glamorous aspects of actually executing my plan. But then, what about the money? What if I can't make it? What if I don't? I apologize if all of these question marks in my recent blog posts make you crazy, because they sure have been driving me nuts. What am I doing here? What am I doing?

I visited my family in California this past week, and at the end of it, I just wanted to curl up into a ball in the corner of the sectional next to my dog. Don't make me go back. I don't want to pretend I'm an adult anymore. It's safe here. It's sure here.

I think it's one of the only times in my life (you know, all 23 years) I fear uncertainty. It's like I never realized my parents were holding on to the back of my bike seat. I looked down, saw that the training wheels weren't there and thought, "Look at my badass self riding this two-wheeler." Now I have to ride my bike by myself for reals, knowing everyone falls the first time.

My Sugar-Free Life, Day 2

And I'm about to trade in my right arm for a cookie to go with my morning coffee.

Would you like to know what happened on day one of my sugar-free life? I announced to my boyfriend, my never-eating-dessert-doesn't-even-enjoy-sweets boyfriend, that I wanted to go cold turkey on refined sugar (so fruits are okay) for a few weeks just to kick my need for a daily fix, and he came home with this:

Still Got It

From the NYT Style section:

Ms. Kahng said, “An old buyer from Neiman Marcus that I used to work with, who’s now retired, recently e-mailed me, ‘You’re still the coolest kid on the block’, and she’s right, I’ve still got it.”

Where can I get me some of that?

There's a strange dichotomy within my person. There's a part of me that decides and does what I want with disregard for propriety or of disapproving looks (admittedly, to the point of insensitivity at times), my internal moral compass my only guidance. (If you were wondering, yes, I get lost often.) And then, usually after whatever deed is done, I look over my shoulder and ask, "That's okay, right?" And then...

"That's reasonable, isn't it?"

"Is that normal?"

"Normal," I believe, is the worst word to ever be devised. 

I admire people with self-assuredness, a cool certainty of themselves. (Note: Not bravado.) What do they know that allows them to say, "She's right, I've still got it"? How do they drown out the rest of the world inhabited by [insert numerical digit followed by many zeros] people more talented, more able, luckier even? An Everest, thanks to my crippling fear of failure.

With each year under my belt, that confident, irreverent person steps with a little more spring, but contrary to logic, that only seems to heighten my insecurities. Is that normal?

Maybe that's just one of the cons of being 23. Pros: no wrinkles. Yet. Cons: self-doubt.

(image and quote via NYT, designs by Gemma Kahng)