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In the meantime, you have to stop telling your dreams to people who shit on them.
This means: Stop running your dreams and your plans by your parents. You are trying to perform “good daughter” by including them in your plans like you would reasonable parents, but they are not that kind of parents.
I can vouch that the Paris, France Awkwardeers are LOVELY.
Even in small towns, I’d find the local shop and buy a postcard and send it, and they’d all say some version of the same thing: “” When my grandmother died, she left me two things: A pair of earrings from when she got her ears pierced to celebrate her 80th birthday and a box full of all the postcards I had ever sent her.
There’s a map of the world in the box and she’d drawn little dots on the place every time a postcard came to map my travels.
They told me that I should just keep the soulless job that I have and travel somewhere for two weeks every year. There’s a familiar pattern when it comes to my parental interactions: I want to do awesome, scary thing.
They disagree with the thing, most of the time bringing up money or them not wanting to support me as the reason why it won’t work.