The Rise and Fall of a Dream (otherwise known as The Almost Quarter-Life Crisis)

Let it be known that while I may have a flair for the dramatics, I'm also relatively self-aware. Self-aware enough to know that what I'm about to write may seem like I'm overdramatizing life. What I have to say to that is that I'm a natural-born worrier, someone who obsesses over whether or not she's living her life the "right" way, which of course is an abstract notion that only I can determine. But the fact that I am the only person who can figure that out is the problem. 

I have no idea what I want out of life anymore. And while I'm aware that it's a semi-frequent feeling for someone my age to have, it makes me extremely uncomfortable because I've generally always known what I thought I wanted. But let me back up a few steps to where my dissatisfaction lies.

I don't like Los Angeles. I hate it, in fact. There are a ton of wonderful, amazing things that this city has to offer, but I don't think this place is for me. Quite simply, I find it exhausting and stressful. I hate sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic with cranky, miserable drivers. I can't stand the fact that everything you do here is a thing. I can't just run to the grocery store or Target to pick something up. There's pretty much always a roadblock, whether it be parking, traffic, or the number of people crawling everywhere. Every single day feels like Black Friday. 

I will also be the first to admit that I was under a fair amount of illusions about Hollywood. I grew up in front of the television and idealized a large portion of what I saw. I idolized people I had no business idolizing, actresses and actors that I don't know, who don't know me, and who are flawed, just like any other human. I'm grateful that my eyes have been opened - there's only so long you can live with idealized notions without doing yourself a disservice. But at the same time, my heart breaks with the knowledge. I always thought this was the place I was meant to be - with my people, my fellow TV lovers. A place where people wouldn't look at me with furrowed brows when I obsess over fantastic writing, character progression, or sinking fictional relationships.

As I've mentioned earlier, I do have a flair for the dramatic. But I have no desire to surround myself with it. I've only gotten a taste of the television world, and I'm under the impression that it's actually relatively tame compared to what it could be, but it's enough for me to seriously take a step back and reevaluate. I've met a lot of really wonderful people here, but I've also met a few divas and a fair amount of people who feel entitled. And the ratio is not an ideal one.

I'm under no impression that I should have career satisfaction at 23, but I would at least like to feel like I'm contributing to something. I've been job hunting for a couple of months now as my current job winds down and summer hiatus rapidly approaches. I've lost count the number of resumes and cover letters I've submitted, but can easily keep track of the number of interviews I've had because the number is a big fat zero. I know that I'm smart and a hard-worker, but that doesn't mean anything here because there's always someone better. Or at least someone with a better resume or a better network pool. It's ironic how much of the city is built on ego when it makes it impossible to have one at all.

I am always writing, but I haven't touched a script in months. Not because I don't enjoy it or because I can't envision myself doing it for the rest of my life, but because I can't envision myself doing it here. And unfortunately, that seems to be the only real option, with a few rare exceptions. 

I think about moving home constantly. Not always with serious consideration, but it crosses my mind frequently. But then I think about how many people I would be letting down if I decided to pack it all up and go back home. The number of people who took a chance, loaned (re: gave) me money, or believed in me. Would I be letting them down if I decided it wasn't what I wanted? Wouldn't it all have been for...nothing?

I've always known that I didn't wanna be here forever. I can't imagine raising a family in a place like this. And if there's one thing I do know, it's that I want that for myself. But then I think, well, what's the acceptable amount of time for me to spend here before I can leave? At what point does everything I've done or everything other people have done for me to be here become worth it? Five years? Ten years? Three?

Maybe I'm asking for too much. Maybe the idea of both career and personal/family satisfaction is impossible. If I went home, I would certainly be surrounded by nearly everyone I love, but I don't know that I would be able to find an occupation there that I would truly be okay doing the rest of my life. A writer in Muncy, Pennsylvania? What would I do there, really? What would I do in Muncy? Because in all honesty, I'm not sure I would truly be content living the rest of my life there, either.

And then, too, I think well I have the rest of my life to move back home. Maybe I should go to Boston or New York or Chicago or try something else for awhile. 

I know I'm not supposed to have all the answers, but I'd like to at least have some direction, which is rapidly feeling like its slipping from my fingers. I'm confused and legitimately have no idea what I want anymore and have no idea how to figure it out.

When do you finally learn how to adult?