A Moot Point

-         I’m staring at a yellow pad with the words A Moot Point in a slightly larger and bolder font after tracing over them for the last few minutes. Procrastination, you say? Lies, I tell you!-

I have been waiting for this day – mostly this time of my life- since forever, to be able to say I graduated college and I am an educated woman. See, when I pictured this day while I was in high school, back when the secrets to controlling curly hair hadn’t been really whispered to my ear like God’s divine gift to me or when braces were the coolest thing ever –for those who had seldom been kissed (me!) and hadn’t realized the difficulties they could create- I saw life after college as a commemoration of being a full-fledged adult.

       I would look hot (for some reason, that was always the first priority in this fantasy life dream, me being a total bombshell), I would quickly publish my first novel and be internationally recognized (probably because of the bombshell look), I would meet the funniest and cutest guy who’d be my best friend but could also make my toes curl (demanding much?) and life would carry on perfectly and smoothly interrupted frequently by trips to Europe, interviews with fantastic late night show hosts and of course, walking up the stage at the Oscars after winning one for Best Original Screenplay.

  Oh my goodness! Thank you! I didn't even have a speech prepared.

(Lies, I've been practicing it since I was eight!)   

      But as I graduated high school and my years at college accumulated with surprising speed (no one tells you how fast they go by), the finish line that defined becoming an adult would wickedly move farther and farther away, fulfilling the definition of horizon.

      Horizon: the “apparent” boundary between earth and sky. Both the celestial and sensible horizons change with the observer's position.

      They failed to mention you never manage to reach it. Anyways, it’s a bitch. I’ve come to the conclusion that I have two alternatives for dealing with this consuming situation.

      One: I’ll slowly give up on becoming an adult and settle for the I-have-no-idea-what-the-hell-I’m-gonna-do-with-my-life phase.

      Two: Cry hysterically at the uncertainty and dark uneven tunnel that is my life.

I opted for the second one.

      For the next weeks, I cried randomly and equally intense, like Diane Keaton in Something’s Gotta Give when she is dumped by Jack Nicholson. In the shower, immediately after waking up, while taking a mouthful of yogurt. Yup. It was a sad sight.

      I knew it was a tad dramatic and was slightly acting like someone had convinced me that all the new trend “the world is going to end” movies’ epic scenes were going to take place all around me in the next few days without a warning.

      But truly, I felt sad and lost. I felt like I had planned my life up until this point, thinking “Well, I have enough to keep me busy. No need to keep adding to the list for a while.” But I got so busy and caught up on crossing things out of the list that before I knew it, the to-do list was over.

      I felt like Wild E. Coyote after finally catching the Roadrunner. I’d lift my wooden sign up that would read, “Okay… what the fuck do I do now?”

      On top of that there is the life altering, surely detested question by everyone, especially youngsters that is asked by every intimidating adult figure in your life.

      “So… what are you gonna do now?” Like the vultures in Jungle Book. (Yes, I know you remember them. “Oh, I don’t know. What you wanna do?”)

      A derivative of that question is “What are your plans?” The immediate response is emitting a sound so guttural and strange that makes me sound retarded.

      “Uhhhhhhh… plans? I don’t know,” I’d mumble.

      Then comes the strangest facial expression you’ll see. Like they’ve just eaten a banana smothered with ketchup or any other random combination that will horrify you. Then the endless amount of solutions to your existential crisis will pour without restraints out of their mouths.

      Well, you need to get moving.

      Get a Master’s.

      Get a job!

      Get married already! (Yes, someone did say that.)

      Okay… a Master’s. In what?! A job? I’ve had one for a while now that is completely irrelevant to what I studied. MARRIED?! To whom?! Well, that answer is easier but the rush is not welcomed. Still, the questions are incessantly confusing and at the age of twenty-two, contrary to whatever anyone has led you to believe- I do not have it figured out. Hence, the utter failure in the adulthood department.

      What am I going to do with my life? I can’t stop asking myself, hoping regret and longing don’t bubble up and overcrowd the already tightly jammed feelings. And then, like a light bulb on top of my small head, I made the incorrect assumption that starting a blog will give my creativity an adrenaline shot and… something significant will happen to me.

      Then, the reality-seeking and pessimist-thirsty side of me said: Who the hell cares if you haven’t found yourself?! People are way too busy trying to figure it out themselves to read 400 words on you whining about it.

      So I guess this project was sort of pointless and this blog entry and all future ones will be a moot point. Or like Joey Tribbiani would say –and quite ingenious I must say- a “moo” point. Because it’s like a cow’s opinion and it doesn’t matter. If the F.R.I.E.N.D.S reference is lost on you, necessary comedy is missing from your life.

      In the meantime, I’ll keep writing.