Finding Hope
My imposter syndrome gives birth to a multiverse of fraternally linked selves, these fragmented mirrors of myself coming together to contemplate where we each might end up, and where our overlapped moments might be found. Wasting nights laying awake, twisted guts and heavy heads, until we discover the antidote to the simple truth lying amidst it all: growing up is hard and there is never a right way to navigate it. Until it is universally acknowledged, we find ourselves making fools of our youthfulness and chasing adolescent clarity that doesn’t exist anywhere in the realms we wander. As the hand of time continually finds new ways to stake its presence in my life, I find myself habitually battling with the anxiety riddled question of whether I had done enough that day. Yet who demands the answer is still unclear to me. Was it myself? My peers? Society? And what was their grading scale measured upon? In all my years of academia, never has there been a question so difficult. What was enough and could I even complete it? The pressure builds with each passing day and every hour spent aimlessly searching through the fog of the future to find a suitable scenario waiting on the other side for me.
The longer I endured the weighted whispers of a failed future, a failed daughter, a failed life, the deeper I retreated into the battering cycle of doing nothing all day and facing the anxiety of it as I laid in bed waiting to do it all again the next day. My depression deepened as I lost myself completely to the pressure of figuring it out. I no longer recognized myself in the mirror, becoming the truth of a girl with no passions or goals or sense of self, all of which had been muffled by screams for clarity and demands to succeed. Further and further the anxiety chipped away at my leaking tank of hope, carving out the best parts of myself and leaving me with craters of what could be and what I’ve failed to reach in my few years on this Earth.
And just when it seemed I had nothing left to give, a miracle happened. Within a city haunted by the ghost of my upbringing, I walked the tight line of expectations stretched fatally high. It seemed only inevitable I would take the fall, yet the concrete waiting at the bottom was but a mirage. Instead I found in the depths below a space I could be suspended, where time slows and my body becomes weightless. A place where the present is all-consuming, pushing the past and the future into the furthest corners of relevance. I call this place “Somewhere To Figure It Out.” I’ve spent the past month within this place, allowing myself to get to know its space intimately and at my own speed. And in doing so, I’ve adopted its gentle ways. Kindness to myself paid first, reassurances next. A charging port for hope. Echos in this void of “it’s okay”s and “you have time”s. I am only 19, I don’t have to have my life figured out right now. I’m confused and anxious most of the time, but that is normal and part of growing up. And within this space of my own, my life belongs to me, and I am in control. Selfishly, I want to stay in this place forever, existing silently and slowly, shrinking into the shadows of the world where I am the only breathing thing. But this space is somewhere to rest, not somewhere to live. Eventually I found my way back into the light, and as harsh and overwhelming as it is, my time away had given me the strength to bear it with grace.
As my mindset adjusts from day to day labels to this infinite stretch of time, it becomes easier to forgo the idea of wasting my youth. In this world of my own, nothing is at waste for there is nothing to waste -- time is endless, and this period of my life has no parameters. It’s a stage that will lead to the next, and the passing of presence will come naturally and on its own terms. The proverbial struggles of reaching independence will continue to exist, but it is easier on the mind when the deadlines are disrupted.
To put it bluntly, this period of my life sucks, but I am grateful to it, for it makes me live and gives me something to live for. This time will yield itself to you, and you have countless slow days and long nights to simply live, breathing in the air and letting go of the expectations. It is cycles of nothing and everything, miles walked or run, ideas ignored and explored. It is waking up and going to bed and continuing to put yourself out there, in the light, in the harsh landscape of reality. It is coming as you go and please, learning and recessing, making your mark here and there. It is to be everywhere and nowhere all at once and living, living, just living. It’s a beautiful thing, figuring it out, because it is powered by hope, and you’ll find that as long as you are living, you have endless amounts of it.
