forever is composed of nows

Even though the wise words of Margo Roth Spiegelman have been echoing in my head for the past two months, I cannot help but think and worry about my future. I have always been obsessed with my future; I remember being around eight years old and planning how many kids I wanted to have, and what I would name them. In fourth grade, I already knew that I wanted to write books for a living, and I was surprised when my classmates confessed that they hadn’t much thought about it. When I entered ninth grade, I went on the CollegeBoard website and researched colleges; where I wanted to go and what I would have to do to get there. I’m a junior now, and college is something I think about A LOT. I am worried that while my effort is honorable, my grades and SAT scores will not be enough to get me into my top school. When I see people working and studier harder and longer than me, I get upset with myself. I am a perfectionist, and though I realize, (as Hannah Montana says,) that nobody’s perfect, I still expect myself to be.

I wish I had time to make YouTube videos and write my novel and watch my favorite TV show and actually spend a few minutes on making cool outfits for school. But I don’t. I don’t, and I punish myself for that. Sometimes, when I am pissed and stressed out after school, I blow off my homework and watch episodes of shows I have missed and eat lots of ice cream. This is not productive. This is procrastination, and it is bad. While I am doing it, however, my brain goes into a weird mode, telling me that I deserve this time off. And I believe my brain, for the most part. The next day, when I am cramming my free periods trying to get all my AP work done before my next class, I think, Why didn’t I do this last night? I had plenty of time and I sat there doing crap. I don’t know how to fix this vicious cycle, but lately I feel like I’m drowning in all there is to do.

And now, at possibly the worst time, I am questioning my decisions. I know I want to write. I have always wanted to write, and I cannot go long without writing or thinking about writing. It is quite inherent to my personality. But I wonder whether it is the best decision to study English in college. I know I am interested in other things. I am good at English, I tell myself. And this is all that matters. Me, taking the easy road, pretending I can live off of a writers salary. When every knows that is completely ridiculous. I have been set on, since last year, pursuing journalism. But I’ve begun challenging that too. I’ve been considering anthropology, psychology, genocide studies, teaching, forensics, law. . .and then there are too many things and there is not a box on the PSAT that corresponds to what I want to do.

Through this thought process, I have learned at least one important thing about myself; I love a good mystery. This is why forensics have always been appealing to me. Anthropology, forensics, journalism, psychology. . .these are all disciples which involve deducing a thesis from information, chasing a story, finding a killer from evidence. Maybe I will end up a detective.

Can’t I just go back to reading Nancy Drew books?


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