Burdens and Joys

Ever since I was a kid, I marveled at the thought of living on my own, doing what I love to do. I looked up to the adults that would pass by on the street or in a mall. I envied their freedom to do as the please, the freedom to go where they wanted to go, living stress free in a life of bliss, kissed with the freedoms that I saw them enjoy. I thought it would be amazing, to do what I wanted and not worry about a thing. But I was wrong.
Becoming independent was one of the most stressful things I've experienced. Bills, payments, jobs, and little free time, how do others manage this? I onced longed to be independent, to live on my own. But I feel as if I made a mistake. It was going to happen soon. Falling into the grasps of adulthood, with very little preparation of fundamental rules that governed it all. I would love to put all the blame on the schools, how they failed to teach me how to do taxes, what to expect, basic skills such as budgeting and cooking, and other things I would need to know. But not all of this is their fault. I should have supplemented their teachings with research of my own. I should have been more prepared for my own future.

There's this cafe I often visit, not only because the food was affordable, but because I loved the atmosphere that surrounded it. Everytime I walked in, I'm hit with the smell of freshly baked pastries, of freshly brewed coffee and cookies and other magnificent aromas that wafted around the room.
When I open the door, the sound of the bell chiming when it was hit, the countless conversations that occur around the room. The silent whirring of the machines behind the counter, the little ding whenever the cash register is operated. The ovens in the back opening and trays full of breads and cookies placed on wheeled racks so they can cool. When I go and find a seat, I can listen on those countless conversations that happen around the room or just lay back a little. Children laughing and screaming, their parents quietly hushing them or scolding. The cafe was my sanctuary. The staff always seemed so nice and would greet me when I walk in.
Even when it wasn't busy. I loved to spend my little free time there. Comfy in their soft, pillowy seats, a nice, soft, warm jacket cradling my body as I open up a book. I can still enjoy the soft whirring of the machines behind the counter. The ding of the register as the occasional customer comes in and orders a coffee or a sandwich. I enjoy the relative silence the place can get outside of busy hours. The clank of cups being put on a saucer, the pouring of the many drinks that are sold here. Even the occasional rustle of the wind outside, the sun pouring in through the large, open windows, giving off a welcoming warmth and natural lighting. It's as if the sun loves spending it's time their too, giving off a warm, relaxing feel of security and understanding.
The one and only thing I don't like about this place is that I eventually have to leave. In there, I don't have to worry about the struggles I go through, deadlines to meet, bills I have to pay. I don't have to worry about the constant reminders of work that needs to be finished, the feeling of being pushed and pulled in many directions that I often times encounter outside. I run. I run and run and run away from my problems, back to the cafe, my protective bubble from the hailstorm of adulthood.
But I still can't escape. I can't run away from all the rules that no one told me about, the constant pressure to be a part of the community, to offer something back. Why can't I be myself? No one told me that out here, in the vast open world, I would be confined to this tiny, insignificant speck on the surface of the entire plant. A mold that one has to fit into, or be cast away and thought of as insignificant, incapable of giving anything back for the constant drainage of resources. Constant work with little return, my life getting duller every day that goes by, making just enough to pay bills and getting the bare essentials I need to survive out here. Is this really what it means to be independent? If so, how did all those people from my youth seem so happy, so carefree and vibrant? What am I doing wrong? I know I'll figure it all out eventually, but I'm scared of when I will...