The bad news, and the very very good news is that it won't be like this forever. It turns out I probably won’t live all the lives I thought I would. I might never be the girl who wears eyeliner wandering the streets of New York City in the rain. Or the girl who lives in a little house filled with plants by the beach. I might not ever get to go backstage with the band, or fly on a private jet. I might not have gardens to walk through or a sky rise office to look out from. I don’t know. I might. But I’m coming to terms with the fact that my life is just my own and there’s no amount of Pinterest pictures or Instagram stories that will make my pieces fit into something else. It’s weird to let go of that. That when I was 11 I had no idea who I would be at 15. And then I thought I knew. And then I thought I knew again after that. And now I think I know at 21. And the truth is I never will know, not until my very last day, when I look back and realize what it all ...