Expectations vs. Reality

When I was sixteen, I honestly thought that I had my whole life planned out. I’d go all the way through grad school for psychology, fall in love at some point, graduate cum laude, get a great job as a family therapist, get married, have four or five kids, maybe publish a couple fictitious YA novels, have a house built from the ground up, and live happily ever after. That was the plan, and I was sure, at the age of sixteen, that it would come true for me.

And obviously, that didn’t happen. I mean I am only twenty-two years old, so I probably have the time to put myself back on that road, but I had a timeline, and things changed. Life’s course changed on me. I thought I was going to get certain things done by a specific time (i.e.: graduate), because I never expected to not be able to pay for school. My head was up in the clouds.
But what can I say? I’m a dreamer. I always have been; I’m a little girl with big dreams. (Clearly, if you couldn’t tell by that first paragraph.)
The expectations I had for myself were pretty damn high, and I think everybody knows what happens when you have high expectations, especially when the outcome doesn’t meet them: major disappointment. I’ve learned [the hard way] that having basically any kind of expectations for others is useless, but I still have yet to learn that about myself, because I want to have it all.
And yes, I do realize how selfish that sounds, but I mean come on. Who doesn’t want to be both successful and happy? Sounds pretty ideal to me.

Prompt: How did you picture your life to be when you were sixteen years old? Did it happen? Are you happy about the outcome?

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A twenty-two year old who lives through words and her Netflix account. She makes herself laugh more than others, and she claims that she is okay with that.

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