Good grief. I can't even picture my life in seven months, let alone seven years. It could be anything -- literally.
Let's see, it will be 2022 in seven years, and I will be 28 years old. I already don't like the sound of this. Where will I be living? What will I be doing? Who will be in my life? This is stressful.
Just last week, my chiropractor was making small talk with me and, knowing I'll soon be graduating with an IB degree, he asked me which country I want to live in when I grow up. My knee-jerk reaction was to say France or Britain. But, I told him, I would also be fine staying in this country (for now) as long as I can move to another state. I told him about Boston and I think he could see the stars in my eyes. But for the moment, any permanent decision remains to be made.
I haven't the foggiest idea what I'll be doing at 28 years old. Will I be writing? Will I be a digital content manager? Will I work at McDonald's? Will I own a company? (God, I hope not.) I don't know. But that's kind of the terrifying beauty of it. I don't know what I will be doing seven years from now, any more than I know what I'll be doing seven hours from now. (Sleeping, I hope.) Whatever I'm doing, I know I'll be happy.
Who will be in my life? That question is yet another amorphous blob of mystery. The people who are in my life now may stay or go, and certainly there will be others I've yet to meet who come along as well. Will I be married? (I certainly hope not.) Will I have children? (No.) Will all my friends and family still be alive and available for me to call on the telephone? (Fingers crossed!) But we'll cross that bridge when we get there.
I think back on my life seven years ago, and that's how I know there is no way of knowing the future seven years from now. Seven years ago, I was 14 years old. It was 2008, Obama was just about to win his first Presidential election, the US economy was almost ready to tank due to the housing bubble, and The Black Eyed Peas had just dropped "Boom Boom Pow" on the radio. I was a freshman in high school (oh how I wouldn't relive those days) and I had no idea I was in for a long and bumpy road of school, homework, bad teachers, late nights, early mornings, boyfriends, heartbreak, best friends, questionable haircuts, hard work, international travel, a feminist awakening, and even becoming a big sister.
There is no possible way that if I were able to go back in time to 14-year-old Alyssa right now and tell her everything she has in store, that past Alyssa would believe it. Who I was then and who I am now are two different people, entirely. The damage and the growth alike are irreparable and irreversible.
So, as for my life in seven years, the only thing I can say at the moment with any clear certainty is: I don't know.
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