As far back as I can remember, I never wanted to be grouped with the majority. I never wanted to be a statistic. It's the reason I was a virgin all through high school. I didn't want to be a teenage mother. More specifically, I did not want to be a Black teen mom. There were too many of them around me. I wanted more, desired more. College was always in my future because I knew the world was bigger than my neighborhood. I wanted more than just a high school diploma. Education was a drug to me. I craved it.
For years, I wanted to be the opposite of what society said I should and could only be. I'm ok with that. I know who I am. I do believe that my intelligence is one of my greatest traits. But, it has more to do with things I've taught myself. I value knowledge and the people who are always on the hunt for more. In my pursuit to be the anti-version of Black women splashed all over reality shows and the like, I realized something significant. I've been running away from some specific statistics that I've unwittingly landed in another one: I'm 30+, single, never been married, childless, Black woman. I'm suddenly a damn statistic! And, clearly, I'm not happy about it.
I'm days away from my 34th birthday. I'm depressed about this approaching age. Why? Because none of the dreams I had for 34 have come to fruition. The entire theme for this year can be summed up on one word: adrift. It's the only way to describe it. The realization that I am a statistic makes me sad. It makes me average, like everyone else. That is something I've never been comfortable with. Maybe there is a plan for me to not be trapped in this particular statistic. Who knows? But, I do find the irony in this entire blog. Sometimes I believe that my own worst enemy is no further than the reflection in the mirror. Anyway, these are just my thoughts.