"Where Will You Be in 10 Years?"

I could picture it now, a meadow, a cottage, and me in a field of flowers sneezing continously from hay fever. It's so beautiful the sunshine and the clouds hovering over. I go off skipping in my neon green crocs to the little path that leads to the garden and pick apples from the tree. I sit down in my little, white dress, cross my legs and put two apples in my basket. It's warm here and perfect.

I get out of my daydream and look in the mirror. I see a dusty wall in the background and my twenty four year old self in my three year old pair of Nikes with a hole on each front. The bulge from my pants being too tight, and the purple shirt with a bleach stain at the edge harken me back to the day 10 years ago I told myself I'd be in the meadow, in my dress. Man, has life gone 180 from what I wanted. Where do you think you thought you'd be?

The past has a way of repeating itself and one of my greatest fears is that I'll spend another 10 years doing the same thing. Even worse, there could be nothing in the mirror where my reflection would be. It's hard, it sucks when dreams are dashed and never fulfilled. Does that mean they should be tossed away and forgotten? I don't think so. Just because I'm not in my neon green crocs now doesn't mean I won't get a pair.

You see, schedules are for people who think they'll be able to predict what will happen next. I've learned I'm not one of those people. I thought I was. I thought after I graduated college I would instantly get a decent job and save up for a home and in a year or two I'd be debt-free setting up residence in the suburbs. That was far from the truth.

With that error of estimation, I received a wake up call to reality and a different take on the whole 10 years. Who cares if you're not a billionaire by 30 or a famous playboy playmate. What matters to me is I'm healthy and I'm going for that meadow somehow. There's no time line or ticking clock. For once in my life, I don't care how I'll get there, I'm just enjoying the ride, and that's the best part.

Article by: Rosemary Jasmine Rivera