I feel that I am so lucky.
I have friends—more than friends—that have loved me through multitudes of rock bottoms. I have a family that has accepted me and learned from me and my unique experiences, as I have from them. My parents treat me as someone with a valid opinion, not just a kid who doesn’t know anything. And they love me unconditionally.
I am so lucky to have the freedom to express myself without shame or any fear of being outcast or bullied. The school I go to has talented teachers who support their students, no matter who they are or what they look like. I have access to free and quality education, and without it, I would be nowhere near the person I am today.
Everyone, throughout the school years and summers leading up to high school, has told me that these four years would be either the best or worst years of my life. As a 10-year-old watching their older sister go through the chaos of 10th grade and the mental toll it took on her, the anticipation overwhelmed me entirely; from late nights to back-to-school shopping, my whole 8th-grade year was possessed by anxiety and preparation.
Simultaneously, the majority of the adults in my life built up high school as something I would cherish for the rest of my life, some saying these years would soon be a distant memory, recalled for the last time as I was surrounded by family and friends while taking my last breaths. These people likely either peaked in high school or were being excessively dramatic, but regardless, I believed them.
I am so lucky because I have been gifted with resilience and intelligence, inherited from my parents, that I have used to get through the first year and achieve something close to the former.
I say this because I need something to be happy about. I’m yearning for a glimpse of light through the thick snowflakes that obstruct my view of the good things in this world. I’m committed this winter to be intentional in my joy, to, as easy as it would be, not succumb to the dark skies and cold nights.
I’m writing this as a digital journal. I don’t like writing sad stories, but I find it’s the easiest way to write a column, in particular, that I’m proud of. I’m trying to prove to myself, more than anyone, that columns don’t have to be sad and I am capable and deserving of being happy.
I hope this can serve as a constant reminder to myself of how lucky and privileged I am; I am someone who lives in an affluent area and never has to worry about a fridge that is always full and quality healthcare that has reliable access. As our country presently sits, this is not true for millions of people, and that’s in one of the most wealthy countries in the world.
I’m trying to remind myself of how lucky I actually am despite how bleak the stories that currently entertain the media are. I’m trying to remind myself that I am so lucky to have the life that I have, to have a house, a loving support system, a proper education, and a predisposition to a comfortable life and a successful career.
I am so lucky and I need to tell myself this more.
