I'm sure you guys already know that I completely adore Mindi Scott! So when Mindi said she was able to do a guest post for Lauren & Katie's 18th Birthday Extravaganza I totally flipped out in excitement! Today is the last day to enter, so make sure you fill out all the correct forms for a chance to win!
Don't forget to check out Call Me Crazy or 365 Days of Reading tomorrow to see the list of winners!
I was going to tell you today about this weird guy who chewed tobacco and left a silk rose from the gas station on my car for my eighteenth birthday. But then I read Katie's post about her quarter-life crisis now in progress and decided to get all confessional on you instead.
So, I’ve never told anyone this before, but while I was growing up, I believed that I was going to die young. For all of my teenage years, I was certain that I wouldn’t make it into my twenties.
Maybe it was because my dad passed away two weeks before his 25th birthday. Maybe it was some kind of a defense mechanism that I created to keep from stressing out about the future. Truthfully, I’m not sure from where the idea came.
You know how sometimes you hear about people who find out they have a terminal disease? Some keep their regular routines as if they are always going to be around while they hope for a miracle cure until the very end. Others might spend their final months/weeks/days attempting to do some of the things crazy they’ve always wished to do.
Even though I believed that my time was short, I was more like the hypothetical first option, except without the hope. I plugged along with high school, homework, and friends. I had an interest in acting, accounting, and writing (what a combination, right?), but it seemed pointless to put much effort into them. My friends were planning for college and careers, while I was simply waiting to see what was going to happen.
Fast-forward to today. I’ve made it past my teen years, past my twenties, and into my early thirties. Sometimes, I look back and get frustrated, wondering why I didn’t try harder when I was in high school, why I wasn’t more ambitious, why the bizarre death sentence in my imagination caused me to shut down instead of fight back.
More often, though, when I look back at that scared teenager, I cut her a break. She didn’t do all the living that she could have and probably should have done back then. The good news is that I can do it for her now.
Thank you so much Mindi!