23 is restless, bored, hopeful, distressed, equal parts pie in the sky and down in the dumps. At 21, I was newly graduated from college, ready to conquer the world (or at least strike out on my own). But Fate dealt a cruel blow. I was a senior in college when the economy collapsed. My vision of acquiring a full-time job with benefits deflated right along with it. I took my old summer job until that ended. I spent seven months serving at a maternity home. And then came my string of seasonal work. I began to wonder when, if ever, I would have a normal job with a modest, but liveable income.
23 walks a tight rope. On one side is childhood and adolescence. On the other is adulthood. 23 wobbles somewhere in between.
A part of me knows that this is just a phase, a fleeting second adolescence. Soon I will reach the other side and solid ground, and leave the tight rope for others to cross. In the meantime, I stagger and sway, a bit unsure of my footing. And my eyes see with joy that the end is near. In a month I'll be turning 24.
