I think I crashed. My life is somehow out of control. But I just tried to meet all requirements. Have set my life goals as the society expects them from me. Where can my wishes and ideas of my life’s flight fit? In a small compartment where I have to squeeze my own personality to make room for the huge expectations around me. My idea of ​​life is, so to speak, the piece of hand luggage that is stuffed into the overhead compartment in large aircraft.

Studying a STEM subject, raising many children, but please do not forget the pension

While I am stowing myself in a much too small compartment with my own values, the passengers, the expectations of the outside world, are taking their place around me. They crowd through the rows of seats to get a good seat in my life-flier can. Through a small gap of the luggage compartment lock, I see how the rows fill. I see the expectations of my parents, after which I should have a solid full-time job, for which I am paid so well that in the end enough pensionit comes around. I see the expectations of the labor market, according to which I, following my 1er Abitur, at best study a STEM subject, should complete five unpaid internships incidentally and also would necessarily insert a semester abroad. The Federal Government has also reserved a seat row. She craves my taxes, which I should bring in as quickly as possible, despite the fact that I employ at least three children who would not, of course, keep me from working full time. 

How do I find out which is the right way of life for me?

They all feel like an army struggling for me in lockstep. With raised finger they discuss about my life and how I could make it as effective as possible. I snap up sentence fragments. “She absolutely must …”, “If she does not …”, “Everyone else does …”. I feel sick. Hunched up, I pull my legs a little closer to me, in order to at least try to achieve a tiny amount of security in embryo position. I feel the pressure rise. Apparently we have already left. As the noise of the turbines drowns out the babble of passengers, I try to catch my thoughts. If the pressure from the outside lets me shrink further internally, how can I find out for myself which is the right life path for me? Actually, I thought so far I have mastered the hurdles of growing up well. High School, check. Study, check. Until then, living up to the social expectations, I would say.

Suddenly, an air hole

Studies aborted, check. Suddenly I feel an air hole. My head bangs against the ceiling of the luggage compartment, which is only a few centimeters away. I jaule up. The voices of the passengers are getting louder. “If she had completed her studies …”, “Training is not worth anything these days.”, “How does she want to feed a family if she can not go up in high salary classes?”. I am about to vomit . My ears are roaring and all the bones are aching. I feel like I’m about to crash my life pilot myself. 

From now on I take the wheel

Just before I fill my luggage compartment with my own vomit, the luggage compartment lid springs open. The turbulence has stirred up the inside of the plane neatly. I run at full speed in the direction of the on-board toilet so as not to spoil the rows of seats. But just before I can tear open the door, my eyes fall on a large red sign, which is attached to my right. “Cockpit”, written in large letters on it. Suddenly, aggressive defiance overcomes me. I’m tired of being shaken by my plane. The wealth of expectations that have taken place in it, should finally dance to my nose. I open the cockpit door and take the wheel.

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