Doubt

"Oh, how I ricochet between certainties and doubts."

"I'm trying to be assertive; I'm making plans. Gonna rise to the occasion, yeah, meet all their demands, but all I do is just lay in bed and hide under the covers.
It's too hard to focus through all this doubt, keep making these to-do lists and nothing gets crossed out."

Oh, Sylvia and Conor always know what to say. I'm having trouble articulating my doubts to anyone; everything seems to think I'm being silly. They overestimate me. They don't try to think of my situation objectively. I can't meet all their demands. I just keep hitting snooze.

I get so frustrated when people think I'm overreacting when I doubt my future. Give it time, give it time. I don't have time! The future is now; the future is always right now. I don't want to screw myself over later by not knowing what I'm doing right now. I have to feel prepared; I have to be working towards a goal. I have to assess my own abilities honestly and truly. But I can't! There doesn't seem to be an objective enough person on earth.

The cloud of a false reputation surrounds me. I'm not as smart, responsible, capable, determined, or ambitious as anyone thinks I am. I suppose I should take it as a compliment that people perceive me as so much better than I am, but it is going to catch up with me. I'm always living in dread of those moments when the veneer cracks a little. Eventually, it's going to fall all apart and I'll be left without options. I wonder if I'm actually any of the things people attribute to me, or I've just been hearing them so long, I started to believe them myself.

As I have learned from my meager studies, a fracture between identity and essence is not good for mental health. I don't want to be Mrs. Dalloway, perched on the edge of instability all the time--inches away from being Septimus falling from the window at any given moment.

So I'm searching, searching for what I want. What I'm actually capable of. But I can't figure it out without any honest assessment. That leaves me obsessed with my falling grades, the image of the Cs tainting my papers and tests, mocking me with their averageness, their reek of failure. But they're objective and unyielding. They're the only reliable measure of my abilities. And they're telling me I'm not good enough.

I try to listen to what the grades are telling me. At a certain point, my mantra of just "work harder" fails me because I hit a stalemate of work and ability. Sometimes, my best is just not good enough. My dad always says it's okay if I'm doing my best. Is it? Their conception of my best is not what reality may be. What am I supposed to do if my best isn't really good enough?

The desire to do something, to earn a Doctorate's degree, is not enough to obtain it. Why am I the only one who thinks so? No, you cannot do anything you put your mind to. Everyone has limitations.

I just don't know where mine are, and testing them is slowly chipping away at me. Is it cowardly to back down into safety, or is it the smart thing to do?

I don't know; I don't know. I just hide under the covers. Academic advising is going to have a good time with me.

Cheesy Musings

When small things get in the way of big things, and futures become slightly hazy, it makes you really think about what it is you really want in the future.

I want a library. A home library stocked with my favorite books, all of which I've completed at least once, and organized in some way that I love and is confusing to everyone else.

I want the library to be a sanctuary against all the clutter my personality won't allow me to not make. I want the walls (that aren't already lined in shelves, of course) to be covered in things I love. A wall of significant newspaper headlines, a wall of vintage propaganda posters, maybe my favorite records, and some antique typewriters that I've always been fascinated with. Frivolous things that look immature in living rooms will come together to create a space that only I'd put together.

And more than that, I want to be able to sit in that room and write things that people want to read. Maybe not a lot of people, but a few genuine ones.

I often find myself focusing on the school and career parts of my future, but there's definitely more important parts that I'll need more than anything else.

I'll need great friends that will hop into a ditch I backed into without hesitation and friends that clip perfect cartoons from newspapers and carry them around in their wallets so I can see them and friends that don't mind when my brother needs to tag along.

I'll need family that supports my frantic panicking and doesn't get mad when I call at random hours freaking out even though they're on vacation and laughs at me with more love than amusement.

These things are what make the bad parts bearable. Whether I'm teaching people who don't care at a brain dead community college or guiding vibrant and curious students at a prestigious university or writing magazine articles with topics I know nothing about or living on freelance writing and a prayer, I'll be okay.

"If I could write a letter to me...

and send it back in time to myself at seventeen..."

What would it say?

Brad Paisley already knows because he's 40something and successful and has plenty of evidence to reassure his young self.

What would reassure me? After all, I'm seventeen and in need of some reassurance. So if I got a letter tomorrow from my adult self, what words would I want to hear?

I would want to hear, first and foremost, that everything worked out decently and I'm not living at home with my parents. I want to know I got into college and got a job I like or love, and am not struggling to merely survive. My worst fear in all the world is being a failure, in my own eyes and the eyes of the rest of the world. I don't want to wake up when I'm 40, hating my life, myself, and everything else. I'm afraid I'm already on a road that's leading in that direction and I'm only seventeen years old.

Second, I'd like to hear that I didn't really waste my youth like I'm always convinced I'm doing. My fatal flaw is that I criticize myself constantly but never take any real action. I want reassurance that one day I do take action.

"Have no fear, these are nowhere near the best years of your life..." sings Mr. Millionaire Brad Paisley. I hope he's right, though. I truly hope these are nowhere near the best years of my life. I know there's no letter coming in the mail telling me it all worked out. I know it's up to me to make sure it works out.

But a letter wouldn't hurt...