Quarter Century Crisis

I'm 25. On May 5th, I turned a quarter of a century old. Yeah, I'm old enough to legally rent a car now, and that's cool, but aside from that, what's the draw? I'm an adult. I'm supposed to have shit figured out. But instead, I'm chasing unicorns down the rabbit hole. So for the past 3 days, since I stopped celebrating my birthday and recognized that I actually had one, I have been trying to determine, ya know, my whole life. 

I have come to two conclusions. Yes, just two.

First, I want to be a writer. Not an "I have a blog that I post on twice a month and keep a journal and occasionally type things at Starbucks" kind of a writer. A legit author who writes meaningful pieces and gets paid more than peanuts for them. 

This opened the door to other questions that I don't have the answers to. Is my life interesting enough to write a book? Am I actually capable of writing a novel? Maybe I am more suited to magazines and newspapers. Do I want to continue to write about the topic of mental illness? Do I want to branch out to more creative writing? Do I have the determination to make it? What if I pour my heart and soul into making it as a writer only to learn that I actually suck and all of you actually just read my blog to laugh at my piss poor example?

And then all these unanswered questions, fears about the future, doubts about my talent swirl around my head until I get dizzy, freak out, and force myself to abandon the idea altogether. Which then leads right into conclusion #2.

I want to be a stay-at-home mom without the kids. (Feminists, pick up your stones and aim. You won't like this.)

I want Boyfriend to worry about the business sphere while I cook, clean, and stay pretty for him. I want to have dinner on the table at 6:00 every evening. I want to have coffee with my friends after they drop off their kids at school. I want to tend to my garden. I want to pride myself on how clean my windows are. I want to host dinner parties. I want to wear dresses every day, clean in heals, and bring Boyfriend a beer while he pays bills.

I think part of this second desire, this dream of being a housewife in the 50's, stems from my insatiable craving to be normal. My life has certainly leaned towards the abnormal, and part of me thinks I've earned the right to be a bit more conventional in a modern society. I have proven myself as capable of handling the atypical, the crazy, the difficult, which means I have been given a pass to rest in the traditional.

Or maybe I am just trying to hide where it is safe.