Being 24 feels like downloading an update that never finishes. And maybe that's fine.
There's a meme that says by 24 you should have long figured out what you want. I'm 24. I don't know. And I'm starting to think that might be the point.
Every time someone asks me what I 'do', what I really mean is: what am I? A writer who doesn't write? A photographer who forgets her camera? Someone who thinks about creative things but never finishes them?
Maybe the answer is: all three. Or none of them. Or something there isn't a word for yet.
I've started keeping a list of things I want. Not as a manifestation ritual, not as a vision board. Just a list. Sometimes it says 'a cat'. Sometimes 'knowing how to make pasta from scratch'. Sometimes things I don't say out loud.
The list keeps growing. So does the knowing. Slowly. Like a fig.