Montreal native, on fun, life and more fun
I get a little antsy writing about life because it is almost like summarizing every Google page in the history of the internet. And that’s a lot of pages. I mean come on… the world is bigger than Nikki Minaj’s ass and even that thing can have it’s own postal code. So I’ll stick to one subject: My Quarter Life Crisis.
When I was a little girl I thought the world was what was in my backyard, and even that was terrifying. Twenty years later, I realize I won’t see the entire world in all my lifetime and I’m totally not okay with that. My University years are coming to an end, I’ve been having some forced thoughts embedded in my brain. Let me tell you a little story:
Once upon a time, I grew up in Montreal. I knew every bus route inside and out. I knew all the best bars, restaurants and movie theatres. I knew which seat in cinema 2 felt the comfiest and which McDonald’s has the fastest service on a Saturday night. (Trust me, competence is hard to find). I knew the people. Even the strangers seemed familiar. Life was GRAND. I was a starving student busting my way through essays and last minute projects followed by a few mental breakdowns here and there. I lived in my mom’s basement while working two jobs. (Props to me) and on the occasional Friday night, I would splurge on some beer and drink away my worries that I was keeping at bay. Until I saw an episode of the Simpson’s.
My life was over. I saw the look on Bart’s face and I made a secret pact to myself that that sad little yellow boy would not be me. I am a true believer in breaking out of your comfort zone… unless you want to be comfortable because I totally respect that. I was one of them.
But let’s be frank here, as long as you’re happy- do it. In this day and age, I would be truly disappointed in mankind if it is still frowned upon to lead an adventurous lifestyle.
Just because I don’t want to work at a desk 9-5 does not make me immature.
Just because I want to travel the world and live out of a backpack does not make me a hippy.
Just because I am scared to be an adult, does not make me a cry baby.
I’m allowed and so if everyone else. Growing up sucks. Taxes?
Maybe when I’m fifty, I’ll buy a red two-seater convertible and call it a day. But for now, I’m going to continue dreaming (and crying).