What do you like?

Not too long ago, someone asked me a question that, despite its apparent simplicity, I found incredibly difficult to answer.

What do you like?

The question at first appeared to be an easy one. I began to launch into my go-to Things-I-Like answer. I like running on the cross country and track teams. I like playing my cello in the school orchestra. I like writing for the Central Trend. I like volunteering at the nursing home by my house.

I know that, said the asker. I know you do cross country and orchestra and all that stuff. But I mean, what do you like?

This clarification gave me a moment’s pause. Hadn’t I just answered that? I had just given them a quick run-down of my extracurriculars, the things I spend my free time doing. What did that person mean, What do you like?

And then I thought about it. For the first time in a long time, I actually gave consideration to the things that I simply liked, the things that aren’t easy to list off one by one on a resume. I like hiking through woodsy parks. I like bonfires. I like stargazing. I like chai lattes and hot chocolate. I like a million things that can’t be summed up simply by the things I do, like the chinkling sound of waves washing over shells on a beach and the exhilarating feeling of running during a thunderstorm and the satisfying crunch of burned toast.

I like all those things: they are just as much a part of me as being on the cross country team or the track team or writing for the school newspaper. But although I’ve listed off those things countless times when people ask me what I like, I’ve never mentioned the less concrete things, the things that won’t end up on my college applications or get me a job in the future.

Why not?

Maybe it’s because too often, we forget how complex people are. This simple question reminded me that people do not fit neatly into lists. They don’t fit into clearly defined boxes or easily quantifiable numbers. So many times, we are asked to distill ourselves into neat lists and brush ourselves up into neat packages that look agreeable and are easy to understand. And too many times, we devalue the parts of ourselves which don’t fit into the packages or are filtered out during the distillation process.

I don’t know about you, but I certainly don’t want to be distilled.

I don’t want to present a neat, filtered version of myself to the world. I don’t want to be prettily packaged into 500 words or less on a college application essay. I don’t want to be defined by a list; in fact, I don’t want to be “defined” at all. Because I am more than the “extracurriculars and awards” section of my Common App account. And so are you.

So, reader, I challenge you to ask yourself what you like.

I challenge you to explore who you are beyond what you do and to embrace the little, hidden preferences and dreams and memories that sprinkle your soul with happiness.

I challenge you to answer that question with a wildly eclectic panache of incongruous interests and memories and delights. And I challenge you to relish its messy authenticity.