When you’re a little kid, the first question you’re asked is always “What do you want to be when you grow up”.

Almost as if we have a choice.

We’re told to follow our dreams.
We’re told the world is our oyster.
We’re told that everything will be okay.
Lies.

Our life is already planned out for us.

Step One: Get good grades.

Ignore the anxiety howling at your door like a tornado.
Get over the flooding depression, drowning you slowly.
Ignore the large burdens slowly breaking your back, as admitting weakness won’t get you any sympathy.
Spend your hours studying each subject for your standardized testing, getting exercise, going and doing extracurriculars, volunteering, working a minimum wage job, cutting out time for the friends you didn’t have time to make, and don’t forget the homework.
Do all this and perhaps you might pass your classes.
Perhaps you’ll make honor roll.
Perhaps you’ll get into college or university.
Perhaps people won’t think you’re a failure.
Perhaps.

Step Two: Get a stable job.



Step Three: Get married.

Step Four: Have kids.

Because that’s the only reason you’re here, right?
To leave something worthwhile behind?
But there’s only one way to do it correctly.
You spend the first two years dedicating all of your time to this squirming thing, waking up at 3:00 AM to appease it’s crying, but you don’t care because you think it’s the one thing in the world you’ll love unconditionally and you know it loves you back but you aren’t thinking about that when you’re overtired and it’s bawling and you can’t do anything and you just want a few minutes to think.
It will get better from here, right?
The next ten years are spent driving from house to house, soccer field to soccer field, recital to recital trying to fit it all in.
Never really looking.
Never really seeing.


Step Five: Retire.

Step Six: Die.