Why is it in bed that I question tomorrow?
Tonight, I caught myself doing it for the hundredth time. Wondering what I should become in the future, as if the decision had to be dropped in the mail tomorrow. Always the same questions, always the same doubts and nothing changes pretty much except an occasional loss of sleep.
Tonight my aunt’s voice hung over my head. In her mid thirties she confessed to me that she is utterly depressed. “I am nobody!” she said. “My friends have stuck to a certain ladder and climbed it. They have become something. Names. Titles. Professions. While I don’t even receive a salary.”
She loves life. Got hung up on the candy-store version of it, and never managed to let go. You name it, she’s done it: volunteer, art, science, religion, children work, adult training-but it never made sense to eat out of one bowl.
I never thought the day would come when I look in the mirror and foresee such a disaster in my own eyes. The disaster of loving life too much to settle for one thing.
Somehow, my mom managed to do both: multiple projects at once and a profession; an increasing salary. At one point in the past, I swore to her that I wouldn’t do the same. “I am not like you,” I said. “I can only focus on one area, and acquire deep knowledge of it. Doing many things at once would make me a mediocre, and I can’t be that.”
Statements are easy when you’re 17. Even 20.
Yet now, at age of 25, and particularly at 3 in the morning, it is extremely difficult to decide what I shall be in the future: A banker, professor, reporter, screenwriter, producer, trainer, secretary, or diplomat?
It is even more difficult to pick a side: become a blinkered professional, or an amateur lover of life…