Note to reader: There are a good many ‘might’s and ‘maybe’s and ‘if’s and ‘could’s in this paper. This is not because I am uncertain of myself, but because I am uncertain of the future. Nothing is set in stone except the Ten Commandments. No matter what I wish and hope for my future, things will not turn out exactly as I plan. All I can do is prepare myself for what is coming by realizing the mistakes of my predecessors and knowing where my heart is.
My Life
August 2008
I screamed for the first eighteen months of my life. Mom said this was because I was infinitely frustrated with my inability to communicate. Two weeks after my birth, so she tells me, she took me back to the hospital, insisting that her beautiful new baby hated her. The doctor had faith that my banshee phase would pass, and sure enough, the minute I began speaking, the shrieking stopped for good.
Fourteen years later, I still get that feeling. It’s so hard to make myself understood sometimes. Something will happen or a thought will enter my mind that sets all sorts bells ringing. There are dozens of different reactions rushing together, and by the time I voice my opinion, the reasoning doesn’t make sense to anyone else. Other times, it’s I that can’t comprehend the actions of others. Small, insignificant things can make me want to scream for another eighteen months.
In order to succeed in the real world, understanding the people and the world around me will be the key.
After high school, I will either attend a service academy like West Point or wimp out and attend another college. Either way, I would be thrilled to get an education equal to those of Ivy League schools. What field I decide to go into will greatly impact where I decide to further my education.
I have always been drawn to outer space. Maybe it’s because all the episodes of X-Files I watched with my parents as a kid, but I’ve always been awed by the infinite mysteries awaiting us in galaxies far, far away. If I get good enough at math, maybe I could go into astrophysics. If I grow a backbone and suck up my fear of heights, maybe I could join the Air Force and become a pilot for the shuttle. Or maybe I’ll stay a little closer to home than that.
I could be a writer. Writing is second nature to my family, like breathing. We don’t see it as a chore, but as an enjoyable part of everyday life. Both of my parents write for the local newspaper. Maybe that will kick off an exciting internship at The Times for me, and I’ll grow up to be a world-renowned journalist for the Miami Herald. I could take it one step further and apply for a job at CNN or Good Morning America, and be a household face, bringing the latest about our world into America’s living rooms.
More and more often lately, I have been thinking. Thinking about how the mind works, why people make the choices they do, how they think, imagining what it would be like to dive into another’s mind for a day. Maybe psychology is my thing. I could get my answers and help others at the same time. I hate seeing people in pain. The empathy rips me apart at times. But if I could twist that into a means to help them, it might work out for the better. Even so, I would have to train myself not to look at people objectively, like they’re particularly interesting ants to mull over. Embracing that empathy could open up a whole new side to me.
I think choosing what I call the psycho path, psychology, is my best bet. Not only for success financially, but for personal success as well. The only way to learn more about others is to first learn more about myself. If I can learn the basics of how the mind works and our human instincts and emotions, I can get a better handle on how I see myself and be ready to help others who need it.
I know I will make mistakes. I look forward to it. I am going to get speeding tickets and say the wrong thing and really party. It’s going to happen. I hope to be unable to pay for an apartment in college and live off of Ramen and Spaghetti O’s. I don’t want everything to be neat and tidy. A perfect life would yield no rewards.
I plan to ask questions about anything and everything from science, literature and the universe, to the meaning of life, faith and God, all the way to what Diet Coke is made of. I know that the only way to grow as a person is to get things right, get things wrong, and most of all, learn from my experiences.
After receiving my doctorate in psychology, I will go off to marry some really dorky, really brilliant, really good, slightly Jewish guy I met in school. It will thrill my family. Siscy will tease us, but we will be happy. We might start a practice in the north Georgia mountains and just get used to not being in school anymore. After a while, we might start globe trotting and end up somewhere like Greece or Israel or Japan for a year or so. Kids might come soon after that. It would make for an interesting time to raise the kids outside of the U.S., or at least visit other countries a good bit. I don’t want them to grow up with a purely American frame of mind. I want them to value their educations and care about history and economics other than America’s. There is so much out there that can only be experienced properly with a culturally rich mind. Then again, there’s no place like home.
On the other hand, I want to have fairly normal children. Not in the sense of conforming to society completely, but I don’t want them to be known as the weird kids. I want them experience every part of growing up, from eating Elmer’s glue to racing golf carts down strangers’ driveways. I want them to get in trouble, and know that it’s okay to get in trouble every once in a while. I want them to have balance in their lives, as much as I can provide for them.
I’ll let them believe they have freedom, and they will, but I will always be backstage waiting to feed them their lines if necessary.
I want to be a good cook. I want to set out a spread for a party and have people ask me what restaurant catered. Soda will never pass the threshold of my house unless it was bought with someone else’s money. Fruit and potato chips will be on the same shelf in the pantry. Stray cats will mysteriously be drawn to the doorstep and refuse to leave. The fridge will be covered with drawings and report cards and pictures and reminders. The house will be organized in a very messy fashion. And nothing will be perfect.
Death will not be some morbid, dramatic, drawn-out event that affects everyone I love. Ideally, I’ll go in my sleep at the ripe old age of ninety-six or so, leaving some sort of profound quote to go in the history books as my last words. In reality, it probably won’t be that graceful. I’ll probably be reading the newspaper at the kitchen table and suddenly slump into my oatmeal with one last “Oh, great”. Although deep down we all want to imagine a great shudder of sadness sweeping over the Earth at the word of our death, that’s a little egotistical. Hopefully everyone in my life will be mentally prepared to cope with my passing and will not linger too long on my absence. After all, dying is just another part of living.
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