I Won't Grow Up...

I've had this thought plaguing me for some time now. I'm 24 years old. I went to a fairly decent college, from which I did not graduate (damn you, 2 credits! Not even a whole class!)...yet, I feel like I'm not an adult. I don't drive for multiple reasons (namely that I couldn't afford a car even if I did have a licence, and that I've scared everyone who's taught me how to drive). So that knocks me down to at least 15 and a half years old. I also work in retail. Not that it's as bad as working in the mall (which I've also done), but working at Wal-Mart isn't my dream job.

See, the thing is, my dream job isn't something reliable. I'd love to do theater for the rest of my life. But unless I find myself becoming as talented as, say, Sutton Foster overnight, I couldn't land a steady job. I need stability in some form in my life. As much as I'd love to drop everything and try to stick it out in the city, sleeping on friends' couches and eating Ramen noodles for months at a time...it just isn't realistic.

This brings me to my next point. See those last two paragraphs? Those are me, making excuses, something I'm a pro at. I could complain all day and give you a million reasons why I can't do something...but it's just an excuse. There's no real reason I can't go to NYC and audition for things. Yeah, money might get tight, but I think about all of the stories I've heard of people going there with nothing and ending up making a pretty decent living.

That's why I can't grow up. I can't face my fears. I just run from them. And it's depressing me, because it's just once sick cycle that I can't break. I don't want to be a "lifer" at Wal-Mart. They get another year out of me, tops. After that, come hell or high water, I am going to get out of retail. Hell, I'll work in an office 9-5 if it means I don't have to wear a name tag and smile at people all day.

Maybe admitting all of this is some form of personal growth. I've always liked avoiding my faults, pretending they don't exist so I can go on with life as usual. But I've got to face reality. I'm a 24 year old woman who needs a license, a car, an apartment, and a job that doesn't make me borderline suicidal.