It is mid May.
We are at a dinner party.
Table full of strangers.
Inevitably, the question gets thrown out there.
Ping pongs its way across the table until it reaches me.
The answer is gonna turn into the elephant in the room.
"So what do you do?"
Amidst all of these medical-science-degrees-about-to-turn-careers, I can feel the gazes of the faces from the couples collages adorning the walls staring down at me from capsuled happy moments past. In a matter of moons, these photos will be changed over to include little baby faces too.
"Me, I work part time at a campsite
... Oh, and I just moved back in with my parents about a month ago."
Isn't it funny how, depending on which crowd you find yourself in, time seems to be counted using different laws of physics. Here we are, all the same age, give or take. A decade ago no one could have told us apart; riding the same school buses, walking the same sterile high school corridors, our pores oozing the same unknowingness.
Well, here is me. Peter Pan. Halfway to 50 and still figuring it out.
I guess in some sense, I never want to not be figuring it out.
I never believed life to be one long chronological line anyway.