My name’s Darryl, I’m 22 years old, and I don’t have a clue what I’m doing with my life.
I’m a graduate, a freelance writer and have around £14k of student debt lingering over my head. Yet I still don’t feel anymore like a ‘grown up’. I struggle to use a washing machine, left to my own devices I would live on a diet of Cuppa Soup and beans on toast and I recently somehow managed to get myself stuck to a door.
The question is, when am I supposed to know what I’m doing? Will I ever know what I’m supposed to be doing? Or does everyone else just act as though they know what they are doing?
In a few months time I will be 23, the same age my mum was when she gave birth to me. As a child, this is what I deemed to be the age of ‘adulthood’. The age I thought I’d be somewhat close to having my shit together. But alas a few months away from turning 23, my pride and joy is a set of limited edition Doctor Who stamps, I hate children and this morning my mother had to point out that I had been walking around with my cardigan on inside out.
As a child the age of 23 sounded like a ‘grown up’ age. I remember as a school child pretending to be an adult; I’d have a house, three children and a killer collection of pink, glittery heels. The reality is none of these things have happened, and I’m rather relieved they haven’t.
Perhaps one of the problems is I largely feel like a fish out of water. Leaving University and not spending my evenings crying over referencing assignments is something that’s worthy of the occasional fist pump to the sky. However having a degree doesn’t mean I’m ready to face a lifetime of ‘having a career’. If anything it’s made me less ready. Four years of sleeping in until midday and watching Jeremy Kyle repeats on ITV2 has essentially resulted in a chronic problem of ‘But I don’t want to go out’.
Yet here I am, still not quite in the ‘real world’ of baby sick and electric bills. But still plodding around, trying to look as though I know what I’m doing. However as stated in the first line of this blog, I actually don’t have a clue.
Do I need to find a girl (well, boy), settle down and get married? Alas I fall at the first hurdle and am suffering from a permanent state of singledom, despite advice off my mother who told me when I stop working Saturday nights, I can go out and find a fella. Because working Saturday nights was the issue, not insufferable awkwardness.
Social situations and ‘professionalism’ reduce me to a suffering state of awkwardness. I fill situations with intense stares, serious laughter through my teeth and resort to staring at my shoe laces, hoping the entire situation will have ended by the time I look up. Sometimes I hope for a Nuclear War, depending on the severity of the situation.
I refuse to believe that everyone else out there knows exactly what they’re doing. I’d rather people admitted they are essentially freestyling their way through life.
I’ll end this blog on a quote that was once said to me: “No one in life is ok, they’re just betters actors than you. So maybe become a better actress.”