We are astronauts coming back to earth

This is a perfect time to read the brilliant and unforgettable graphic novel(s) Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi, about growing up in Iran during and after the Iranian Revolution, and the rise of the oppressive theocracy that persists to this day.

Both graphic novels are available free online (Persepolis vol. 1, Persepolis vol. 2)

not good at other stuff. brain like a blender. once actually i told my mom that it's like riding a surfboard through a tornado: no matter how many flowers i plant, i find the storm coming again on the horizon, whipping up my past into my present. everything becomes a cyclone in a moment. don't know if i did my taxes right; forgot to pack my hairbrush. i'm always forgetting something, actually. rarely ever do i get my work done 100% right; there's always a double-space or a missed comma. not your dog in a fight, i'd probably cry.

but i love you like i wrote you a poem at three in the morning. i love you like your favorite brand of gingerale is always stocked. i made sure to get the pickles you like too; even though i never remember to offer. i love you like your birthday isn't even for another month and i've already made three alternative plans (weather permitting); your gift's already wrapped in a corner.

love you like: give me the wheel i'll drive, you look tired. like: actually yeah why don't you play music, your taste is better. like: you go take a nap, i got this. like: let me make you dinner. like: i already organized everything, it's set to go whenever. like: let me carry that. like: if there's something i can do to make your life better today, i'm going to do it, always. like: okay i lied i did want the last few bites but you were so hungry and this sacrifice is an honor.

for the longest time my goals have been so blurry that they track into each other, their undefined edges slipping quietly back into the soft night. today i want to be a writer; tomorrow i will want to be a doctor, later i will wish i took that law school free ride. how the fuck do people just know what they want to do with their life?

where do you want to be in five years? i want to be alive; which is a huge step for me. ten years ago i would have said i want to be asleep and meant i hope that i'm dead by then.

but i want a yellow kitchen and a stand mixer. i want a garden and a fruit tree (cherry, if i can make that happen) and a big yard for my dogs to play in. i want to come home and read poetry out loud to someone and have them close their eyes to listen. i want a summer watergun fight. i want to make snowmen. i want to be the house to go to for halloween. i want my life to settle around me in a softness, for it to lay down gently. if i am very, very, very lucky, i want to travel; finally go someplace overseas.

of course i don't know what i want to be doing professionally. what i actually want to be doing is curling up beside my dog, settling in to read. i want to be making myself a cup of good coffee.

i can't answer the other questions. whenever people asked me what do you want to be when you grow up, i used to say i hope i'm happy.

i hope i'm still kind, five years from now. i hope i never get jaded and mean. i hope i have stayed in therapy. what do you picture yourself doing? when will you actually be an adult about this? why are you so afraid of being ambitious?