You were always told you were destined for something great. Your teachers loved you, believed in you, supported you. You took all the advanced classes. You signed up for all the extracurriculars. You did the community service. You spoke well, dressed well, worked well. You had everything going for you. Where did you go wrong?
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6 A.M. and the alarm clock won’t stop ringing. You threw a pillow at it a few minutes ago but for some reason the stupid thing just gets louder. Mornings used to be your favorite time of day. Now, you couldn’t hate them more. You get up, brush your teeth, wash your face, jam your glasses on, and throw on some clothes. You used to put more effort into how you looked. Now, you don’t see the point. Breakfast is a granola bar and bottle of water.
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At work you take the stairs up to the second floor. It’s difficult. On one hand it all seems so damn pointless. On the other, you feel you have an obligation to keep working and striving. Your parents worked so hard to give you this chance. It can’t have all been a waste. You can’t accept that. You won’t accept that.
So, every morning you drag yourself out of bed and head over to the office. It’s tedious and boring job, but it gives you something to do. It’s better than sitting at home hoping someone, somewhere is willing to take a chance on an unknown, inexperienced journalist. Somedays the situation seems almost comical. You grew up your whole life with this map. You had it all planned: school, internships, study abroad, work experience, career, marriage, kids, death. Somewhere along the way your map got ripped to shreds. You had the kid before marriage, failed marriage before career, and “career” ended up being working at any place willing to hire you.
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At lunch you see a man propose to his girlfriend. She says yes and then cries. You used to laugh at people who would call ventures away from the plan, “happy faults.” Anything deviating from the plan was wrong. But after having Michael, you began to understand. He was the bright, shining light in the sea of darkness that became your life. You haven’t seen him in two years, but his father calls to tell you everything that’s happening in his life. You’re not a bad parent, you tell yourself, you’re doing this for him. You’ve been free and clean for almost 6 months now. You can’t wait to see him again. You don’t want to jinx it, but you know your little boy is destined for something great.
You don’t want to put the same pressure on him that your parents put on you. They were crazy, you know. Anything less than an A and you slept outside. They weren’t proud when you were valedictorian of your class, it was expected. You barely ever saw them. They were either working or needed "quiet time": no time for you. You used to tell yourself they just showed their love differently. Then, you wondered if they even loved you at all. You don't talk to them anymore.
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1 P.M. and back to the office. You dread it, but there’s also some pride hidden there. You’re working for your life, for your son. Maybe some day you’ll piece your map back together. Maybe some day your life will reroute back to the course you had planned for. But until then, this is your life. You play the hand you’re dealt.
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