DISILLUSIONED

When you’re younger, novice and wet behind the ears, adulthood connotes freedom. You perceive adulthood as emancipation from your old folks. Adulthood connotes freedom. Adulthood seems like you shoving a middle finger to the universe and saying; I can do what the hell I want. Adulthood is partaking in a cold one over the counter. It is you trying out weed. It is getting a bird/chap to cohabit with. It is walking into a night club sans devious means. It is living frivolously on the volition of making your choices.

It is only when you cross the rubicon and delve in and put your foot in the water therein that the fog clears and the realisation that your perception was skewed and marred with flaws sets in. That there is more to adulthood than meets the eye. That its water run deeper. That adulthood is more nuanced.

I am 22 now. I don’t know whether to classify myself as a young or a full blown adult. Let’s go with the latter. The thing is, I am disillusioned. Adulthood ought to have been better than this. It should have been everything I thought of circa 4 years ago whilst wading through the vagaries of adolescence and the pursuit of finding my footing. It should’ve been me constantly in bliss and indipendent because – freedom. Only that’s not how it pans out to most folk. In retrospect, my comprehension stemmed from noviceness and adulthood is one of those things younhave to experience so at to know. It’s a never ending journey of learning to be yourself.

I’m stalked by incessant angst when I envision the future. The murkiness and unpredictability of it all. My ingenuity to carve a niche for myself. Where I’d be in the next 5 or so years. What I’d be doing. Finding financial indipendence from my parents. Being able to foot my bills. Taking care of my family, even if only partly. The sense of responsibility and resolve to be productive is a constant fixture in my adulting journey. It watches me sleep through the night. It is the incentive that makes me wake up, sigh and write, even when i don’t want to. It is the impetus and at times inhibition to everything I do.

It doesn’t help that there are peers who have done far much more than I have at 22. Hell, what have I done. Scoured a few thousands to my name? Dated an immensely beautiful lass? Bought a phone for myself? Et Al. They tell you that everyone has their own journey. That we shouldn’t compare ourselves to others since in that; unhealthy pressure festers. But can you really move about relentless when comparison sits profound around you? You gaze at your phone and there it is staring at you. You look around and there it is gawping, sneering, ready to pounce. You sit in a room, it lurks amongst you. You make gab, it spews out. It is ubiquitous.

I don’t know where I’m headed and I’m dubious I will anytime soon. But hopefully some clarity finds me along the way. Finds us along the way as we try to build realms for ourselves. As we exert to find our true north. That when we are told the country belongs to the ‘young generation’,  we hope the world conspires to help us. That it would take jaggernauts to weigh us down. That even if we flounder we’ll have the grit to rail on. That we muster all the fortitude and valour we can to waddle through. That we make it for ourselves and those we love.

This is beginning to sound dark. Well, it is. And dark is beautiful. If you think otherwise you have clearly watched not a Jordan Peele movie, and you should. It isn’t lost on me that it might stay this way until we find what we love to do and the sense of permenancy or stability to play with. That things will someday look up and we’ll look back, under mirth, over a pack of beers or coffee for the teetotalers and hold court in glee.

You’ve read the whole piece? You’re great!

PC: Pinterest

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