The Little Martian tears out tiny tufts of hair from his red hot scalp.
“I don't know what the duck I am supposed to next!” He exclaims, his eyes widening to frightful proportions. “It's like a long path that stretches out before me, with thousands of bends curving this way and that, and I don't know which bend to take. What if it makes me unhappy? What if it's the wrong choice? What if it doesn't work out?”
His voice breaks on the last word, and three globular tears roll down prettily from his left eye.
“I know LM. It's terrifying. “
“Really terrifying!”
“But you've just got to trust in yourself and in the decisions you make. “
“Thats a 2/10 reassurance” he snorts.
“Let me go on you idiot.”
He shrugs.
“As I was saying, you have to trust yourself, and you have to push forward, even when you aren't sure what is coming next. The unpredictability of it all is what makes it so exciting and beautiful”
The Martian looks unconvinced. I don't blame him, I ripped off my entire speech from Pinterest affirmations.
“Okay, look at it this way.” I try again. “It's like you're standing on a hilltop. Murky mist blurs your vision, and you can't see two feet in front of you. “
“Anxiety activated.” The Martian shudders.
“It is all shrouded, in mystery and unpredictability! You feel the sharp drop of open air in front of you, and you know that if you lean too far over the precipice you might just fall off the cliff.”
“Is this supposed to be helping me? “ The Martian grunts.
“Let me go on. “ I swat him on the head. “Panic grips your belly. Your tummy does that weird somersault like when you're on a roller coaster, or you go to fast over a speed bump on a flyover and everything is like anti-gravity for a second.”
“Anti-gravity!” The Martian sparkles, getting into the zone at last.
“ And then suddenly, the sun breaks through the clouds! And there is light everywhere.”
“And we can see what's in front of us at last? “
“Nope,” I reply. “Now you’re blinded by the light.”
“What the flamingo was the point of this long-winded analogy then?”
“I have no clue, I’m literally 21.”
The Martian erupts into snorting giggles and hands me a quart of lime-flavored vodka. I pop open a pack of Uncle Chips and hit play. The Simpsons theme song rings through the living room and the Martian props his little purple socked feet up on the coffee table.
This growing up thing is hard work.
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