And I’m too busy/tired/lazy to edit my two billion photos from my recent travels. (Greece was a beautiful country, though, and I wish them the best.)
And I may be quarter-lifing. I mean, I’m about to turn 25, and what the hell have I done that’s of any significance? (Can that be defined as an existential crisis? Am I going through this again? I thought I graduated from this when I graduated from college. Come on.)
The person with the biggest expectations for me is myself, and on a good day, I know that’s a good thing, but sometimes, it really isn’t.
Then again, when we’re young and we don’t know much of anything about what the real world is actually like (and this is coming from me: I don’t pay any bills, I have no independence to fund, I have iteasy, and I think that adulthood is more difficult than we ever imagined it to be at 17), we all think we’re going to be spectacular and maybe change the world—or at the very least, the world as we know it—before we’re 30. Most of us won’t. Most of us never will.
The best we can do is to improve ourselves. And by the best, I’m not making light of it; I really mean the best. That’s the best possible thing we can do.
So, I figure I’m going to give up on the world and just work on me. It’ll be challenge enough.