I’m twenty-two. This is a built-in time to drop the reins and let life run its course without always leaning on the brake or trying to steer. I should be getting lost and running away and fucking things up. I should be drunk more often than I’m sober, and I should blow all my money to meet every hero I can. It should be that simple. I’m the center of my life right now, so I don’t have to give a damn about much.
And that’s what you see when you look at me. You see the freedom and the ways that I haven’t been tied down. You see the places I could go and jobs I can quit and the people I can leave behind. You see me as easily uprooted; you see this lack of responsibility that I have to my own existence. And you ache for that.
But get this. I do give a damn, a big one. I would trade in my MIAs and my bar fights and my one-way tickets, I really would. I’d do that if it meant we could sort through all of it together. I would happily shoulder half of your burden, lighten your load, to make you see the adventure again. I want to breathe this freedom into you because it seems you’ve forgotten that it’s here for you too. It seems you’ve forgotten how lonely this road can be, what with all of the running and losing and fucking things up.
I’m twenty-two. I’m not supposed to be ready to dive into a life with a mortgage and babies and a 9-5 job. And maybe I’m not ready for that – I don’t know how I could ever know, really. But I do know that I don’t like to run alone, and if you can’t pick and go, I’ll take root and stay.