I've become one of those lap top typing, latte sipping, starbucks dwelling people

The thing I've realized is that none of us really, actually know what we're doing. We're all just fumbling around in the dark, making messes and complicating situations. And I don't know if it's a gamble, each of us painting on poker faces making attempts to win the game at hand, or perhaps we've succomb to the notions of make believe. We find ourselves caught in moonlit dreams, playing at life the way we imagine it, rather than allowing ourselves to exist within the consuming depths of reality. Maybe we're all Alices, falling through the rabbit hole, scared beyond all recognition, grasping at twisted felines and mad hatters for some spec of truth. Maybe none of us really, actually know what we're doing.

My life these past 22 years has primarily consisted of some sort of formal structure, educational systems, carefully controlled environments, a family tree demarcating my life. These have been 22 years transitioning between tiny squares and boxes, compartments, bubbles, a brick house with square windows, a red door, and a chimney for Santa Claus. I'm starting to wonder if all the things I thought were assisting in this path toward self discovery and growth have actually inhibited my individuality. What if all of this so-called knowledge and and room for experimentation has been nothing more than the inevitable result of a structure or institution? What if all that I am is nothing more than a reflection of the spaces having contained this body...this vessel, this soul, the somewhat random structure of muscle and sinew and bone? What if all this has just been some ridiculous test?

College provides one with boxes. Boxes within boxes to organize, categorize, and compartmentalize life. And we all know it's happening as we conform to routine or plans and a certain path marked by specialty or specialties chosen. This can only offer so much room for growth and exploration...maturation. And then you graduate from that world only to find a life void of such containment. Welcome to the vast expanse. Welcome to the "what the hell do I do now?" phase of your life.

I sat in Starbucks watching a little boy shoot blue sugar packets into the trash can- his arms darting upward with certain victory, a smile so pure and simple, the direct reflection of innocent joy. I envied him. Me: 22 years old. 2 college degrees. and unemployment set on by "challenging economic times." I envied that little boy and the profound thrill found in sinking sugar packets into the trash.

I once said that we're all fumbling. Falling through reality. Through space and time, and broken hearts. Broken clocks. Repaired frames and reframed pairings of ourselves and others. Through fiction. Through the moment when you wake up in the morning and still wish you were sleeping. Because it's within the solace of sleep you tread the purest stream of conscience. And maybe this has all just been a test. Maybe this life is nothing more than stories unraveling between our bodies. Between our fallible, complicated, tragically beautiful little lives. This is what happens in the vast expanse. This is what happens in the thick of reality, when you've hit the bottom of the rabbit hole and simply allow yourself to exist within it.

The truth is I'm lost. And even as I say that I'm not sure if it's me that's lost in the vast expanse of possibility and harshness of reality. Or did I somewhere along the way just lose myself? In the moments and experiences I thought I was so clearly coming into my own, honing my individuality and artistic identity...was I really just consumed by this overwhelming force of structure? Was the outside shaping me rather than me having some profound impact on the outside...because of who I am, and what I make, and what I believe in?

Sometimes I think there should be a handbook to life. A book of instructions like Angella Chase said, telling you where to go and what to do. And the macho men of our time would cast it aside, attempting to build the foundations of a life by themselves, whether through intuition or a natural, keen sense of 'how to.' While the careful few would take things step by step, only to ensure a lire constructed carefully, safely, in search of the most perfect product possible. Yet life doesn't work that way. I suppose because none of us know what it's supposed to look like. And we can pretend that we do, we can make plans and develop skills to try and realize the promise of a specific color and shape and classification of life. But in the end I suspect we'd only find ourselves disappointed. Because life doesn't work that way. None of us actually know what we're doing. We're all just little kids shooting sugar packets into the trash. Hoping to make shot after shot, but more often than not, failing, at a seemingly simple task.