I feel antsy.
Like something's got to change, I'm just not sure what it is. Or why.
Maybe it's turning another year older. Maybe it's seeing more and more friends get engaged. Move to new cities. Go back to school. Make changes in their careers. Do big things. Or maybe it's that I'm just not sure I'm who, what or where I should be at 27.
At 17 if you would have asked me what my life was going to look like in ten years, I'm not sure what I would have said. I'm guessing 27 would have seemed so far into the future that I wouldn't even know where to start. Married? With kids? Working my way up the corporate ladder? Living in a great condo with stainless steel appliances and granite counter tops in a big city? Uber-successful? I don't know, maybe my current life would be exactly what I imagined. Exactly what I hoped for. But what if, after staring into that fortune teller's magic ball, 17 year old me would be just plain disappointed with future me?
I think 17 year old me would love the view into the heart of Chicago from my 29th floor window-side desk. Would love going out to LA for advertising TV productions. Would love the friends I'm surrounded with. Would love rockin' a killer pair of pumps and smoothly running a meeting with senior clients. Would love going on a variety of first dates with Chicago's eligible bachelors. Would love the feeling of running along the beach on an early Spring morning.
27 year old me certainly does.
But what about the fact that I still haven't had a relationship that's lasted over 6 dates? That I'm sitting here dreaming about reporting from the sidelines of the NFL or being a writer or a realtor or owning my own business instead of doing something about it? That my business card still reads Account Executive despite the actual responsibilities I've been given? That my savings account is what can only be described as pathetic? That, except for the 1996 Honda Accord I purchased from my parents when my brother went to college, I don't really own anything?
27 year old me isn't so sure of these things. (To say the least.) I can only imagine what 17 year old me would think.
And so I'm antsy.
About where I'm at. About where I'm going. About what the heck I'm going to do to get from here to there. About what it's going to take. About what comes next. And about what I might have to give up in order to make it a reality.