the year I stopped knowing what came next

Everyone kept asking me what came next. I kept pretending I knew. "I Knew It, I Knew You," if you will. Sorry, I'm a sucker for a Taylor reference.

For as long as I have known, life has been structured to a tee. January through May: school. Field trips, packed lunches, late-night essay writing, annoying my mom with an art project due in the morning at 10pm, and playgrounds.

Then came summer: three blissful months we lived for all year long. Water gun fights and poolside popsicles. Babysitters and roller coaster rides. Sunburns, beach vacations, and summer reading packets.

Fall — oh, you guessed it. Back to school. New backpacks and colored pencils. A Pottery Barn Kids lunchbox I'll throw away for a new one by the time August rolls around next year. Holiday breaks and more crying over math at kitchen tables.

The cycle has been the same for the past 22 years of my life. Then, on a random Tuesday, I walked out of the last classroom I will ever sit down in for a lecture, got in my car, drove home, and realized it was all over.

Within the week, I had graduated college, said goodbye to my perfect, dilapidated house on Highland, packed my bags, said my goodbyes, and drove back to Kentucky. For the first time in my life, I — and everyone around me — had no sense of direction. No deadlines to meet or vacations to plan. It all turned upside down in a matter of days: car payments, finding an apartment, unpacking bags just to repack them, and, for a lot of us, moving to a new city with a job we have a solid chance of hating.

No one told me that 22 was really just 16 with taxes, salaries, and rent. It kind of sucks, to be honest.

At 16, I had these same feelings of wanting to start over. To rebrand myself into the "new" Peyton. I could drive, so I was basically an adult, right? No. Absolutely not. At 22, I feel just like her — but with the pressure of actually doing it.

Now, there is no calendar to keep me in line. No field hockey tryout dates to train for, no deadlines to push off — just job applications, bags to pack, and apartments to hunt for.

As Mel Robbins calls it and Noah Kahan sings, "The Great Divide" is scary, overwhelming, and really sad. Every time I open my phone, my college group chat is flooded with us trying to conquer boredom and pretending we don't just want a beer at Cool Beans. But this time has been equally healing.

There is a part within each of us that strives for the next step. Don't get me wrong — that doesn't come without mourning the one you're currently in. You will make that payment. But if you really look within, you'll feel that small part of you that is ready.

For me, I might have felt it stronger than others. I've always been a few years past my age. My ideal night at 22 is needlepointing with my glasses on, a cup of tea, and a sitcom. God, who have I become?

Yet there's a beauty in the rebranding. I have an abundance of time to dive into new hobbies, read a good book, apply for a job I'm nowhere near qualified for, get back in shape, cook a new meal, or pick up and move to Kiawah to become a full-time nanny.

If you asked me last year what I'd be doing post-grad, I can say with 100% certainty it would not have been this. But I didn't know shit about shit. I mean, I still don't — but that's the whole point.

Sure, I may not be in some grand West Village apartment making six figures at a fashion house in NYC, but I'm doing pretty damn good.

I'm taking it one step at a time. Day by day, until I figure out who I want to become.

Over the past few years, my dad has been slowly tattooing a phrase into my brain that has seamlessly become part of my identity: "Success is the progressive realization of a worthy ideal."

Every day, if you are working towards the things you define as worthy of your time, energy, love, and attention — that is success. Success isn't a number in your bank account, the price tag on your clothes, or the job title you attach to your LinkedIn. It is a journey of taking small, actionable steps toward becoming the best version of yourself. For me, that means doing things that scare me, forcing myself to be alone, saving money, and putting the hours into myself.

So, am I exactly where I intended to be? Maybe not.

Am I exactly where I'm supposed to be? Absolutely.

Trust the plan. Work towards that worthy ideal. Be where your feet are. Take a deep breath. Be damn proud of who you are now, and the person you are becoming.

Xoxo, P