It’s one in the morning on a summer night and I am presented with the urge to write. Why not write an opinion column that will inevitably be due in the future?
Your first summer back home after a year away at college is an experience I don’t wish upon anyone.
You are stuck in this hazy limbo where you question your past adolescent years as well as eagerly await the unknown future. Even in all my down time, I’m as anxious as ever and incapable of complete relaxation. I don’t really consider my school life to follow Nazi-like organization, but without a seemingly sound structure to my day, I go absolutely insane.
Anyways, here I am in my hometown wondering where everything went wrong and how to make it right.
My life at school isn’t all too glamorous, but it sure as hell beats this. At least I feel like I’m actively achieving something, whether that is a productive approach toward schoolwork or alcoholism.
At home, I expected it to be a big old high school reunion, but I was presented with a fragmented sense of the life I left behind in August. I suppose I had a taste of this over winter break, but I was hoping for the best and expected things to be different when everyone had summer fever. It’s not.
Everyone is now busy forging their new lives—having jobs, taking classes, partying to get an MRS degree—whatever it may be. So you can imagine my feeling of dismay when I found myself without the solidified plan commonplace with more reliable majors.
Thanks to the recommendations of former editor-in-chief of The Scout, I went to the lib to get some books, all of which were motivational. I will not be disclosing the titles because I am a selfish bastard who wants to better my chances at ultimate success.
Besides, I didn’t exactly ask for this specific genre. Maybe Sam was trying to tell me something, or maybe the poor soul literally only reads motivational novels. Either scenario is highly possible.
Regardless, I found myself analyzing my every move up to this point in my 19 years of living. What sort of dreams did I have in my childhood? Should I start a journal with possible career path options?
It’s hard to achieve things when you don’t have a clear-cut idea of what it is that you want. People often tell me that realizing such things is half the battle, which I, for one, have NEVER found to be true. I hope in this case, if I put forth the effort to solidify possible paths, it will be at least one-fourth of the battle.
So, here I am trying to find out who I am at my core. Soul-searching is rough, people.
Do I really like helping people, or do I like being perceived as a kind, generous person? Do I enjoy writing, or have I always just been obsessively and compulsively forced to do so?
Do any of these questions have suitable answers? Probably not.
I have this great knack for convincing myself I am always ahead of the curve when compared to my peers, but time and time again I have found that this is not the case. I don’t have the skill set to confidently say that my future should be bright no matter what.
Yet I convince myself on a daily basis that I will be a force to reckon with one day. I have this inkling that I will be a life-changing figure in history, and I guess that’s what you need to make a difference in this world.
Nevertheless, with all these overwhelming inner battles, you can start to understand why laying in my bed is a preferable option to starting on a journey that already left without me five years prior. Is this dramatic for a 19-year-old to be saying? Perhaps, but I consistently feel inadequate and don’t know where to possibly begin to fix that notion.
A good starting point is this semester. I’ve upgraded from freshman status and I’m ready to tackle my hectic schedule head-on. After an unproductive summer, the stress accompanied with the beginning of a new school year is a breath of fresh air.
In reference to my favorite band, this summer may have mentally hurt like a mother, but this school year is going to be my b****.