What’s Next?

“What’s next?”

That’s a question I find myself asking increasingly frequently these days. A question that is more often than not left to evaporate into the void without a hint of an answer lurking anywhere.

Haven’t felt this aimless since… Never.

That’s right: I’ve never felt this aimless.

I used to have these feelings of hopelessness and aimlessness, but nothing that lasted this long. I always had a plan. A plan to do something. Anything.

And these plans were for the next year or two, sometimes five. Ten even.

Dreams I had: be a millionaire at age thirty; be married (happily) with kids; live in a cottage in the countryside; play soccer professionally; qualify for Boston (the marathon). Dreams that used to excite me. Dreams that made each day easier to pass.

Back in primary school, I longed to grow up. I wanted to earn a wage; to make money; to have the freedom to spend freely. I wanted to have sex. I wanted to be taken seriously; to be respected. How I wished to be 26!

26… 26! That’s two f*cking years ago, friend.

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