As I sat in front of my computer reading blogs, cup of hazelnut coffee in hand, I felt content. I had gotten acceptances into graduate school and in a matter of months, I can officially add the word “teacher” into my identity.

Then I happened to glance at the little note I wrote of all the things I needed to get done over spring break. There are five things on the list, and only one is crossed out. The break is on its last legs and I still had a ton of work to do. Fuck.

I sat there and began to wonder whether this is the life I want. A life of nonstop projects and deadlines and stress. Didn’t I consider myself bohemian? Wasn’t there a time when I thought I’d write a novel or publish a collection of poetry?

Idle hands, society doesn’t like idle hands. A person must be continually employed, and writing for little to no money is not considered employment. Have a steady paycheck, that’s how it should be, right?

When I started applying to graduate school, I didn’t think I would even need to think twice if I got accepted. But a part of me is screaming out in protest, reminding me that the path I’m going down on is really no different from the one I would have gone on if I became an engineer or an accountant. That part of me is yelling “Sell-out,” and it hurts.

I want hold hands with the bohemian in me. As we sit basking in the warmth of the sun, I want to tell her that I won’t be a dead fish swimming with the current, I’ll always be a Stargirl. I’ll give her hand a gentle squeeze, and she’ll know that even though I’m lying, I’m doing it because I have to, because sometimes when things are difficult, the only thing that helps is an empty promise.

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