The Heart Wants What the Heart Wants

It’s your mind that tells you you should probably stop eating those Candy Cane Hershey’s Kisses. You watch the pile of wrappers get larger and larger and the brain curses you. (You were supposed to stop at number four!)  And your dog is sitting there waiting for you to share (but you read somewhere that dogs can’t eat chocolate) but you don’t give him any because they’re all for you.  You should really stop eating those. But you can’t always listen to your brain.  It’s your heart that wants those Candy Cane Kisses.

As I’ve said before, I’m the age no one really wants to be.  I’m 19 years old. I can buy a scratch off ticket (I even fell into a dangerous scratch off addiction, but that’s another story), but I can’t buy beer (NOT THAT I WOULD WANT TO (and not that I would know if I didn’t want to)) and I can’t gamble (unfortunately). Basically, I’ve been declared an adult, but I don’t have as many adult options, which, in my futile opinion: sucks. All I really want to be able to do is fly off to Vegas and gamble by savings away. I am the worst decision maker except for the one about what to do on my 21st birthday.  I’ve already decided I’ll go gambling (somewhere, ANYWHERE).

Oh, decision-making.  Oh the age of 19.  You think you’re in the clear. People tell you you still have plenty of time to figure out what you want to do with your life, but then your college advisors are breathing down your neck about needing to declare a minor already (what if I don’t want to minor in anything? (“Well you have to!” says the evil advisor.)). I take ages just to decide how I want to do my hair for a family wedding, but I’m expected to decide what I want to do in a twenty minute advisement! This is what is wrong with being 19.  Or any age for that matter. The deal is this: what do I want to do with my life?

My greatest dilemma has always been something along the lines of: What shall I eat for dinner? Will this Ramen noodle soup satisfy me? Or is it a sandwich I’m actually craving? Will I be happy if I eat the sandwich instead?
My happiness was determined based upon a simple decision, but was I going to make the right one?

That’s a little (okay completely) how I feel about these life choices. In the background, the real stuff nagged at me like a snapping turtle (I’ve never seen a snapping turtle and know nothing about them), one movement in the choices department and they were clacking their jaws at me, waiting for a bite because they knew that that one bite would send me straight into a pool of misery.  The Miserable Decision-Making State of Being pool. The stupid thought of what the heck am I going to really do with my life?

The choice pool is shallow,

They are as follows:
Grade 1: A caricature artist at Disney World (let’s not forget I cannot draw to save my life)
Grade 2: An astronaut (Interstellar was a good movie, so perhaps 2nd grade me had the right idea)
Grade 3: doctor (just doctor, because I was smart and that’s what smart people did)
Grade 4: doctor
Grade 5: forensic scientist (this was the first year I started staying up late in which the only thing showing was forensic files)
Grade 7: pathologist/medical examiner (thanks to discovery fitness and health channel, Dr. G became my hero)
And somehow, my first year out of college, the Medical Anything Dream changed.  I couldn’t even get through Bio 1. So how was I supposed to get through medschool.

I then deemed myself incapable of pursuing any sciencey degree and went back to what I really loved which was English.  Writing papers and grammar skill (though I don’t always show it) has always come easy to me.  They were things I learned that stuck , so why not pursue an English Degree?  So when I transferred schools, I declared myself an English major and have thus bounced back between: What the heck do I do with an English degree? and Maybe I can actually get through medical school…I’m smart, right?.  Let me tell you that it’s the worst thing.

Why couldn’t I be born royal? Then I could just be royal for the rest of my life?
Or why can’t I have the brain of my neighbor? Studying at MIT and getting paid to build a nuclear reactor or something (meanwhile I was getting paid 7.25 to serve popcorn to people (yes, my mom has already told me to marry him))
Or why couldn’t I just be one of those people who knows exactly what I want to do with my life?

It’s a rough young adult life.  And the worst part is, I don’t even have the option to gamble my sorrows away.

My brain says toughen up, be focused and go to school.  My heart says, do what’s easy for you (leave spare time to read books).

How are you supposed to know if you want Ramen or a sandwich? How do you know if you want to watch a movie or a show? How do you know if you really like the boy you thought you liked?  How do you know you really want to be friends with someone you’re kinda sorta friends with?

They say the heart wants what the heart wants. But how do you even know what that is?


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