At the age of 20 I sat in a booth at International House of Pancakes with four of my closest friends and announced my five-year life plan which included a graduate degree, a husband, one child, an art gallery and a house near the beach (which of course I owned). Within five years my life would be script-worthy and ooze with fabulousness, I said as I ate something rooty-tooty, fresh and fruity.
At the age of 25 I had nothing I hoped for.
See, at the age of eight I swore I’d move out of the ‘hood, lose my 60 pounds of baby fat, and never, ever be considered the stupid, poor kid again. Through sheer determination and God’s providential hand, it came to pass.
But at the age of 25 I had nothing I hoped for. I was still in graduate school, living with my parents and unemployed. I was dateless most nights and the professors from school thought I was a fashionably dressed lesbian who found warmth and comfort in the university library chairs and stellar grades.
My life was script-worthy. But not the Hollywood drama I wanted. It was more like a romantic comedy—minus the romance.
What happened to the determination I had as the hustlin’ brown girl from the ghetto? Did I not try hard enough? Did I disturb the cosmos unknowingly? In a moment of desperation I broke down like every 20something living with their parents and asked for a miracle…
To continue reading, check out Life Rearranged. Jeanette Gibson is a friend from high school and has invited me to be a featured blogger for causes. Donate to a cause or just read her blog. She’s hilarious.
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