Sometimes I feel like my body slows me down. Not in any need-to-get-in-better-shape way (although I do need to do that), but in a way that's hard to describe. I feel like my head, my heart, all this pudding and playdough inside me, everything is whirling around with so many great intentions and grand plans...but the reality of skin and the responsibilities of it hold me back. Or perhaps it's just the impact of time. As a child I'm sure I dreamed ridiculously big and planned for greater things than can be remembered (I told my Dad once I wanted to be a "missionary ballerina"), and now everything is boxed in and quartered and divided and parceled out into manila envelopes decorated (decorated?) with law firm addresses.
It isn't to say that I doubt my ability to be happy as a lawyer. I know that I can be content, maybe more. I know that I smile easily and that work is largely what you make of it, what you decide it means to you. But I can't help feeling that my life, my body, my age, are nothing more than an elaborate cage to keep me from doing what the 5 year-old me dreamed of. I always thought growing up would provide me with the skills and information I needed to pursue those goofy and gorgeous kid fantasies. Instead, it seems that age and the quest for independence only create new burdens, thicker burdens, burdens that feel impossible to escape.
I read an article today about regret. I get it.
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