Five years ago on a blog now deceased, I wrote a post called ‘What do I do with my life?’ In it I ponder that which lies ahead and strategise for ways to get there. I was still in university, trying to figure out my next move. How to get to be where I wanted to be, doing the job I wanted to be doing, in the field I wanted to be doing it in. You can almost feel the bated breath and the wonder and the fear and the excitement. I’m here now, on that other side. And it feels funny to realise that.
In a coffee shop not long after writing that post I sat down with a friend and we wrote on napkins what we hoped to be doing in five years time. We had a ‘Hopeful’ column and a ‘Realistic’ column. The Hopeful column was everything we could ever want for ourselves in five years, no holding back. The realistic column was a somewhat bleaker, more cynical fall back. Sometime in the last couple of months we revisited those goals, this friend and I and realised to our astonishment just how many milestones we had surpassed. There are so, so many things you want when you’re in you’re twenties because there’s so much that you aren’t yet, there’s so much you don’t know, there’s so much you haven’t felt, seen, learned, done. You’re a blank slate, somebody’s for the taking.
And we’re here now, on the other side. What a strange and lucky feeling it is to be able to say that all of your plans have been realised, all of your dreams have come true and you step beyond the dream you’ve had and ask yourself what’s next.