When I was a kid, I wanted to be a paleontologist, and then an author, and then a librarian, and then a rockstar. That last career idea was formed in the midst of the financial recession, when the failing economy created a sense of disillusionment with society within my 12-year-old self. I seriously considered not going to college, despite the extent with which my previous dream careers had depended on such a thing. I thought shacking up in a van and touring across the country with a self-formed girl band would be the life for me. While this dream was partly fueled by sheer teen angst, it was also partly fueled by an expressive desire to make my writing known to the world. There was one caveat, however: I had terrible stage fright. I still do. And with that, I decided to actually apply myself in school and to do well enough to get into a place like Scripps.
I have never really been that “fight the system-y,” so hard as I tried. I love school, and learning, and doing well in things that people tell me I do well in. I have always had this strange hunger to work hard and succeed. Even when I didn’t have to, I worked two jobs in high school because I felt like I should. I felt like, having grown up so privileged, I owed my parents something. Now in college, I feel like I owe them even more. But what’s interesting is that my parents don’t feel that way; they wouldn’t care if over the summer I went home and worked as a waitress. I’m finding that the person that I really strive to impress the most is myself.
What I’m writing right now is the last in a series of six writing assignments that I’ve had due over the past four days. This is my first big stressor since coming back this semester, and it hasn’t been easy to complete. My parents were always confused when I stressed myself out like this, and to an extent, I am too. I mean, I didn’t have to write for a newspaper, or a blog, or take really hard classes at a school like Scripps. I could have gone to Penn State and rushed, and they would have been fine with it. Yet, I see everything I’m doing as a part of a larger plan for myself. With everything I do, I get better at the more I do it. There’s this great commencement speech that Charlie Day, the writer and producer of “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia,” gave at Merrimack College. He says that “people will tell you to do what makes you happy…But I don’t think you should just do what makes you happy. Do what makes you great. Do what’s uncomfortable and scary and hard and pays off in the long run…Without that struggle, what is your success anyway?” I think about that every day I’m pulling an all nighter, or writing until my fingers cramp. And I believe It will all be worth it in the long run.
