Change. Such an innocent motive propelled my mind into long-forgotten memories.
In an effort to prolong my procrastination from homework, I decided to take down my change jar and count. Imagining I had maybe an hour's worth of meaninglessness to occupy me from the voices telling me to do real work. Plus, for some reason counting change has always fascinated me. As a kid I used to offer my services to my family and spend hours taping dirty coin wrappers formed by a cheap Bic to emerge with blackened digits.
10 minutes later and I was done. In those short moments, existentialism got the best of me.
Up until relatively recently I've been an avid supporter of change- changing myself, my surroundings. Anything really. I've gone through every hair color (including pink, purple, and teal), gotten up and moved cities when bored, and numerous different aspects of myself and environment when possible. I thrived at the opportunity to switch life up. I would call them adventures.
Now? Not so much. I still like change. But something about it scares me now with major responsibilities in tow. No longer do I have the support of anyone to pick up the pieces if I get in too deep. No longer can I say things like, "I want to do xxx before I'm 18/21 so it doesn't stay on my record". No longer can I up and go without over analyzing my moves not to mention caring about my impact on others.
Yes, I'm growing up and I understand that has something do to with my semi-craving for stability. But what happened?