13 days ago, I was treated to frozen yogurt, prefaced by my dad's looming words, "We need to have a talk."
That's never good.
Turns out, he was more interested in filling up a paper bowl with a fruity concoction of non-fat frozen dairy product than actually having a serious talk with me.
Phew!
But when I finally pried the conversation topic out of him, he asked me a fairly straightforward (if a bit garbled by a mouthful of watermelon flavored yogurt) question: "What's your plan?"
"You mean for today or, like, the future?"
"The future," he said.
Great, I thought. I probably should have studied for this.
I awkwardly scraped the bottom of my bowl, hoping that the answer would find me if I dug deep enough through my leftover chocolate syrup. No such luck.
I knew what he was really asking. How do I plan on making money? How do I plan on making a career for myself? How do I plan on making a life for myself?
See, Dad was asking me this because I would be turning 18 the next day, crossing the anticipated threshold into a life filled with legal freedom, R-rated movies, and smirking at the clerk when asked for ID while purchasing lotto cards. (Freedom I don't have much desire to take full advantage of.)
Dad was asking if I had my parachute fully-fastened before jumping out of the plane.
He was asking if I knew how to reach the bottom without having to be scraped off the earth with a snow shovel.
To some people, money isn't really an object. They haven't had to wait for anything. They have allowances, inheritances, and well-off parents who can pay for their needs. They have well-paying jobs, right out of high school. They can afford college without having to sell a kidney, two fingers, and a third of their liver on the black market.
Me? Not so much.
Last year, halfway through my senior year, I decided I was going to take a year off of college. It was both a personal and resourceful decision. At the time, my family couldn't even afford toilet paper, let alone college application fees. My mom was so stressed out about finances that her health was deteriorating. We were moving for the 17th time since I was born. I couldn't stand the idea of putting my family in even further debt. Besides, I wasn't smart enough to get a good scholarship and my friends told me how little financial aid they were given, even considering their 4.0+ GPA. I had no idea what my GPA looked like, but I knew it wasn't near that good!
So I took a break. (I got quite a bit of flack for that decision, but more on that later.)
Fast forward to 13 days ago.
I looked up from my empty bowl and took a deep breath. My plan was vague and overly specific at the same time.
I don't care about money.
I mean, I know some people do. They go to school to get a degree in something that they are hopeful will lead them to a stable career. They work their bodies to the very end of the day, day after day after day, "working to live". But really, when you think about it, this "working to live" mentality quickly turns to "living to work" when bills get tighter and tighter every month. Soon, they're earning as much as they spend on necessities. There are no leftovers, nothing to save for a rainy day. Only the promise to work for every rainy day until the days stop raining.
Money is great. Necessary, even. But it's not my plan. If I live my life tired and miserable, but end up with enough money to live comfortably for a few short years, I will not be happy with that. The end doesn't justify the means.
Instead, I want to live happily. I want to do something that I love, even if it means bills are a bit tight. I might have to take up a job to get the bills paid, to keep a roof over my head, to keep my belly full, but I don't mind as long as I still love my life by the end of it.
I want to write. I want to create. I want to entertain. I want to learn forever. I want to be a kind person. I want to let God lead me in whichever direction He chooses.
But I want to be happy.
That's my plan. That's my only plan.
