Sweater, Kohl's | Button-down, thrifted Ralph Lauren | Jeans, Macy's | Keds, eBay | Necklace, Walmart
"Just because the cookie is cut by a cookie cutter, does it taste any differently? Does the cookie cutter make it taste worse?"
I paused. "No," I grudgingly admitted.
My friend was right, and I was upset. Since turning the ripe old age of 20, I began to contemplate my future with a greater urgency. Thinking, however, only made me more confused and terrified.
I don't want a cookie cutter life. My friend's aspiration of a decent job, decent partner, and decent kids sounded like an absolute nightmare, and I was bold (okay, rude) enough to tell him so. I'm sure that his dream is a dream that many people hold, and I respect their goal. But that lifestyle, that dream, would suffocate me.
Why? I'm not exactly sure, but I do know this: I've always wanted more. Running a full marathon isn't enough--I want to do an ultra. Studying abroad for one semester isn't enough--I want to do a full year. Living a completely content life isn't enough--I crave adventure, replete with passion and exhilaration.
Even if that pristinely-shaped cookie tastes good, I pass on the cookie cutter, and I'll also pass on those ingredients. I want my cookie to be made from a completely different batter, refined through trial and error, crafted with love, hope, and patience.
So you have your cookie, and I'll have mine. Mine's a work-in-progress, an unaesthetic mess--a lumpy, gooey lob of discordant flavors--but it's my own, and I'm determined to create the tastiest, most satisfying recipe yet.