Trust is a gambling game, and I’m addicted to it. From the moment I meet a stranger, I want to trust them. I want to believe that people are naturally good; I put all my chips on the table. The simple truth is that we can’t be trusted. We are slimy human beings who are always looking to take someone for all they’ve got. In the game of trust, the house always wins. You may be up for awhile, thinking that you’ve found someone who is utterly deserving of your trust, but eventually the house will wipe you clean. You will be left broke, confused and probably pretty pissed off that you deluded yourself into believing you had a fighting chance. Most would get up and walk away, realizing that gambling isn’t for them. But me? I stand up, brush myself off, and head towards the ATM.
Well. I’m 21 years old, going on my fifth transfer college, countless change in majors; back to living with my mom. No job, no car and absolutely no money. You would think I’d have it all figured out by now. I’ve seen the side of practically every major there is out there, and yet I still have no idea. But I am determined to make this move my last college and final major! The only issue is landing on exactly what that will be. How do you know what you want to do with the rest of your life? Will what makes you happy now make you happy in ten, twenty, thirty years? You are blindly going into this surgery without knowing exactly what your doing to yourself, or what the end result will be. My sister, bless her heart, works in the oncology department at her hospital. She watches people (people, not patients) come in day after day only to hear bad news. Even if the news is, “We don’t see any trace of melanoma “, it still means that it will never completely go away. One day, however far down the road, they will die from cancer and it’s complications. She grows to care for these people and admire their strength, only to have to tend to them as they pass away. I see the effects that this has on her, and it truly saddens my heart. I’m watching a profession that she loves turn into something completely agonizing. Then there is my mother. She has always hated her jobs, and I don’t know if it’s simply because she worked so many of them at once, so many long hours, or if she just never found the right calling. I am absolutely terrified that I will end up hating my life. And what a tragedy that is, because life is so short, so precious, and there are no do-over’s. Then, there is the other extreme to it. A life of bliss, a life of doing something you are so passionate about that it doesn’t even feel like work. My brother has loved wrestling since he was six years old, all suited up in his leotard. He went on to be a phenomenal wrestler, and even made a profession of it. He now coaches wrestling at a very prestigious university, and every day he wakes up excited to go to work. So how do I reach this bliss? Well I guess following my passion is the correct answer. So what’s my passion? How do I follow it when I know there isn’t a job market for it? When I’ve already been in school for three years, and it might mean starting completely over? What if it’s my passion now, but I end up hating it. So now I’m stuck in a job I hate, making barely enough money to survive? Deciding on a path that leads down the rest of your life is a scary thing! Frankly, terrifying to me. Everyone else I know has a vision for the rest of their years, but I just feel so lost. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever make it through alive, or if I’ll make one wrong incision, cut an artery and stop my heart beating, becoming a lifeless zombie wondering the rest of my life in misery….
Yes I suppose I’m a little behind on the times. Why start now? Well the idea actually struck me last night at one of my family Christmas’s. Everyone seemed to have a story to tell; a trek through Europe, a bike ride across Alaska, teaching children in Thailand, working in New York City (my unfulfilled dream!). They even had exciting stories that their friends had done. One of which, and probably not the most exciting of all the stories but certainly struck me the most, was my sister-in-law’s friend had worked her way from the ground up in the fashion and photography world. She started with a fashion blog, and it took off running. I just thought to myself, “What am I doing to even get my foot in the door?” So, here I am. Trying to get my ideas and visions about fashion out to the world. Maybe it’ll take off running, maybe it’ll be a slow crawl.
I love this combo of prints and the feminine skirt with a more masculine blazer. so well put together! I bought a very similar skirt at Forever21 for $8- proof how cheap looking good can be!
For awesome fashion ideas, check out my Pinterest!
New Obsession? Polka dot anything! Trying to conquer my fear of mixing prints. It has to be done just right or it’ll be nothing short of disastrous!
December 23rd, 1998. I am only 6 years old, in a new house, new city, and new way of life. Within the year, we had moved from a house in a Big City, to a farm house in a small town. Instead of our yearly sled trip to the Big Hill down the road, I would be doing farm chores and living a much more solitary childhood. Solitary in the way that we were far from friends and really any civilization, but also in another lonely way. I watched a family fall apart; a father succumb to an addition, a mother with a broken heart. It was a confusing and isolated year. December 23rd, 2002. I am 10 years old, and still living in a cold, disheartened family. We were all bitter from the scars our father had burned us with. It affected my mother most, who has learned that the only way to survive is to stop trusting those closest to her. Then, news of my nephew comes; a pregnancy out of wedlock to parents who are just barely 16 and still in high school. Something I was “too young” to know about until nearly 6 months into the pregnancy. How could my brother betray our trust like this? December 23rd, 2003. I’m holding a beautiful baby boy in my arms. He looks so much like his father, my brother. Just barely a month old and his fingers are so tiny, his eyes so blue; so innocent and joyous. December 23rd, 2013. I sit here at my desk, now 21 years old, looking around at my beautiful and dynamic family. A family that has come through so much together. A family that includes boyfriends and girlfriends, adopted children and their parents, mothers, brothers, fathers, sisters, cousins, and even some who aren’t related by blood. We sit here, laughing, telling our stories of success and adventure. We’ve been through trials and tribulations, but always managed to make it through, side by side. This Christmas I know what’s most important to me- family. In all of it’s endless forms. I couldn’t be happier with where we all are in our lives, and I know that the Ghost of December 23rds Future will bring nothing but bliss.