I have an pretty easy and good life.
- I am thirty years old
- I have a great job which I generally enjoy, plus it makes use of my college degree.
- I have a tight-knit family and diverse group of friends.
- I have a beautiful apartment, the ability to shop frivolously at Target, and pay my bills.
- I have a totally normal (if internally terrifying and crippling) level of debt.
- I can not only eat, but consume delicious cheese and drink tasty, if fairly cheap, wine on the regular. I can afford to be healthy and afford to indulge.
- I am physically capable of everything life has thrown my way. I am in pretty good shape without any major problems or challenges whatsoever.
Okay, I really have an incredibly easy and great life.
But sometimes there are things, stupid things, little adult “real world” things that creep up on me. They overwhelm me. They make me want to curl up and hide, crawling beneath my covers until the problem just goes away.
They make me feel like a failure, a fraud, an illusionist masquerading as a put-together adult. A real adult. A real person.
They make me feel like a child.
And I am pretty sure this tendency, this feeling, this underlying sense that I will always be ten years old no matter how many birthdays I celebrate… I am starting to feel as if we never grow out of this.
That somewhere within our heart of hearts, we will always be faking it.
One of life’s greatest jokes? Or just a spectacular tragedy?