Just a few short years ago I was an angsty teenager in high school whose biggest concerns were math tests and winning the basketball game at lunchtime. A few years before that, I was the smart kid in middle school who somehow ended up spending a lot of time in detention with the dumb kids because I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to make the class laugh. Now I’m a cynical young adult at the beginning of what could be a life-long career.
Somehow, despite my attempts to be a goofball, things always seemed more serious when I was younger. Relationships meant more. Life seemed more dramatic. It had more depth. There was character development and an overlying plot arc. There were happy episodes and sad episodes and action-packed episodes, all culminating with a huge season finale before going on hiatus for the summer. Things were exciting. There was intrigue and suspense, sex and violence, language and adult themes. But, overall, I wasn’t terribly happy.
Now life is a boring weekly routine of work punctuated by fun evenings and weekends spent with friends. There is no more plot. No more drama. No more suspense. Character development is minimal. Emotions stay within a well-defined safe zone. There are few, if any, guest stars. The cast members, beloved as they are, are all the same. And yet, for some reason, I’m happy now.
Why? Is it because I know what’s going to happen? Because I prefer not to be surprised? Because I’m…dare I say it…content? A part of me wonders how long this can last. Another part of me tells the first part to stop rocking the boat. Sigh.