I’m a junior in high school, and I’m still trying to figure out who I am.
Not the person people see at parties; not the person who walks the school halls. Me. Choosing future colleges, careers, things I will ultimately devote the majority of my conscious life to refining and polishing into something that seamlessly encompasses the things I show passion for, scares me. It terrifies me, but not as much as it does when I race to determine who I should be now. What I should be spending my time doing.
What will I choose to say when asked about my free time? How my pastimes—and eventually me—will be approached by others unearths this discouraging, futile fear I have yet to truly dust off and confront.
These fears surfaced along with the realization that seemingly everyone else knows their future: applications for colleges have already been filled out, courses chosen to propel a distinct life path. With my mind foggy in its cloud of frustration, I wonder why everyone deems it necessary to ask about my plans. My to-do list has been titled, but number one remains blank; the paper gray with eraser marks from decisions made and minds changed.
However, not everyone asks. There are people, there are books, and things that find it unnecessary to prod and poke at my brain to make ideas bleed out into whatever form they are expected to cover. I will admit that I do sometimes take them for granted, and I don’t realize how comfortable they are until I’m being questioned again.
My to-do list has been titled, but number one remains blank; the paper gray with eraser marks from decisions made and minds changed.
These supposedly minor things—the books, memories, songs, and people—have kept me tethered to the ground in a world where I long to drift upwards and be free from every trouble that may come my way.
Yes, it’s childish, and yes, it’s not possible, but the music I listen to gets me closer than ever to that feeling I crave; the books I read give me another life to live and a sense of adventure I can be immersed in without even stepping from the comfort of my shoes; the memories I have make me happily grieve for the mundane things that became special; the people I surround myself with create a mixture of everything I strive to be.
That is what I need to realize.
It’s not a career, college, or profession that I aim for. It’s the things that have somehow given meaning to my life that I aspire to demonstrate.
My soul is the melting pot of everything that has influenced me, both good and bad. Everything I give thought to day after day has the power to sway my every action and decision. The pot is constantly being added to with the knowledge that anyone can peer inside.
My only restriction is that it has to reflect something pleasant.
