I wish someone prepped me for my twenties. I wish someone sat me down with some ice cream and said, “Look, this is going to kind of suck. Sometimes you’re going to be miserable and lonely  and you’re going to question most of your decisions because you’ll be in a constant state of worry. You’ll be worried you’re behind, you’ll be worried you’re missing out on something, you’ll be worried about your future. You might cry a lot, or you might develop a drinking problem, or you might become slightly cynical about everything because being optimistic gets harder with age. It’s not going to be easy, and I’m sorry.”
 

I feel like the ice cream and “I’m sorry” would have softened the blow of having absolutely no idea what direction I’m going in. Like, “It’s cool, mom/dad/aunt/parent figure. I’m just going to finish my rocky road and think”, but no. Nope. You know what happens? You’re tossed into the deep end of the pool. The speech is, “Figure it out.” 
 

So here I am, doggy-paddling around people who are frog kicking or breast-stroking from one end of the pool to the other. The only thing that makes me feel better is that I’ve bumped into a few people wearing water wings. 
 

I mean, at least I’m swimming…but I’d really like a babely lifeguard to jump in and pull me towards shallow water…and then make out with me.