Over the past four years, I’ve grinded through pointless homework assignments, IB classes and late nights with one glimmer of hope in mind: college. I pictured myself walking around my college town, surrounded by new faces, getting ready to go out that night and feeling like a new and better version of myself. I promised myself that things would be better after high school; they must be, right? As junior year came to a close, and the fall of senior year passed, my college quandaries only grew. I spent months refreshing my email, waiting for the moment that my fate would be decided. I agonized over the thought of rejection and convinced myself that once I knew where I was going, all would be well. I imagined my future as unchanging, something that would guide me through adulthood rather than confuse me.
Finally, after months of torture, I had my answer. I had gotten into my dream school, UC Davis. But for some reason, I didn’t feel nearly as joyous as I had anticipated. Now that I had the answer, my fate was decided. As I stared at the confetti on my screen, I realized that the future was in front of my face, whether I liked it or not. This reality did not feel hopeful, exciting or like something I deserved. I felt hopeless as I pictured becoming an adult. All I could think about was the threat of failure. What if I forgot to do my taxes and the IRS found me? What if I failed all of my classes and amounted to nothing? What if, despite my hard work in high school, I had peaked? With a pang of sadness, I remembered Sylvia Plath’s fig tree metaphor. Each possibility for the future seemed to rot the longer I thought about it, and I feared that I would starve if I could not make a decision.
To combat these fears, I spent a weekend over spring break at “Aggie Day” in Davis with my parents. As we walked around the school’s famous arboretum, I felt tears welling in my eyes. It was not a problem with the school; I loved the campus, the stunning nature and the town itself, but rather a deep rooted fear of the future. I tried my best to articulate my thoughts. I expressed that I feared the future, I feared being away from my friends and family and I feared all of the unknowns. Not only was I deeply anxious about the future, I was also depressed. For so long, I held certain beliefs about myself. I thought that I was fully prepared for this step, and that my post-grad plans were set, as I pictured myself going to law school to become a family lawyer. I pictured myself being fully confident in these things, possessing an unwavering will and determination to succeed. But as I sat gazing at the beautiful creek, I felt paralyzed, and disappointed in myself for no longer aligning with these goals. I no longer felt strong enough for any of these things, and that terrified me. I felt like a failure compared to this version of myself I had conjured up in my head.
As I talked with my parents, we discussed the possibility that I could attend Moorpark and then later transfer to a four-year. Although I still felt anxious about Davis, I knew that I had to accept the inevitable end of childhood by leaving home. So, I powered through these fears and ultimately committed to Davis that same day. I have to keep reminding myself that no matter what I do, the time will pass anyway, so I might as well push myself and do the hard things. As Phoebe Bridgers once said, “The future’s unwritten, the past is a corridor.”
It has been hard to explain to people how I really feel about the next four years. Most adults will congratulate me on this decision, typically beaming and saying, “Are you soo excited?” On one hand, I am incredibly excited about Davis, and I feel so blessed to have the opportunity to go. On the other hand, I wish that I could stop time for just a moment, but nevertheless, the future and all of the unknowns persist.
I think that a major source of this identity crisis came from thinking of myself and my goals as permanent. I realized that, for so long, I had not only heavily judged myself, but others. I questioned why some adults felt such an attachment to high school, or why people chose to defer their dreams of attending college. I had thought of my own future as a path down a straight, narrow road, and I imagined that it would never stray from this predetermined trajectory. But I’ve now realized that I am barely a legal adult, and I will surely change my mind a million times, whether that concerns my future career or other personal goals. This is because my identity is not set in stone. It is ever-changing, just like the length of my hair or my favorite songs. And in fact, this is what makes life worth living. It is such a blessing to change, and to feel this change so deep in my bones. I’ve shifted my mindset and accepted that feeling things so deeply helps me empathize with others and to reflect on my own life. Every emotion that I experience is like a leaf blowing in the wind. It will eventually come back to earth, as feelings are never permanent, but they help us grow tremendously.
So, I am going to Davis, and I am proud of myself. I am proud that I’ve navigated these feelings and made the choice that I know is right. I am proud that I’ve let the tears fall and picked myself back up. I am proud that I’ve recognized these changes within myself, and I am proud of myself for acknowledging them as positive, rather than a sign of failure.