I'm currently sitting on my couch at my childhood home in Denver, wrapped in an oversized Minnie Mouse blanket with my computer on my lap and an episode of Friends I've watched WAY too many times playing quietly in the background. This is not how I was supposed to be spending today. Until 36 hours ago, today was supposed to be the first day of the spring semester of my junior year at the University of Southern California, where I'm pursuing a B.A. in Theater with minors in Screenwriting and Entrepreneurship. However, I've been dealing with some ongoing health problems, which I'll address in my next post, for over a year, so my parents had been trying to convince me to take the semester off for weeks. I, being the kind of person who made my four-year college course plan before even stepping foot onto campus, couldn't even imagine a world in which I wouldn't return to school. As I was preparing to leave, though, and felt the dread of the upcoming semester weighing in, I suddenly realized that maybe I was looking at taking time off all wrong. So, literally less than twelve hours before I was supposed to board the plane for Los Angeles, my mind took a 180 degree turn and I decided to take a leave of absence from USC this spring.
I was raised in an environment that preached following the status quo: graduate high school knowing what you want to do with your life, go right to college, graduate as early as possible, get a job, and start being a productive member of society. I'm lucky enough to have parents that never forced these expectations on me, but growing up I had this path so engrained into my mindset by teachers, peers, the media, and even strangers, that straying was never an option. I had skipped a grade in middle school, and I felt a tremendous amount of pride that I was on track to graduate college before my 21st birthday -- as if somehow entering the workforce sooner would put me at some kind of advantage. Of course, I had no idea what I was going to do once I graduated, and I was in no rush to grow up (the number of times I called my parents crying that I just wished I could come home and go back to being a little kid for a while instead of dealing with the pressure and stress of college is slightly embarrassing). Nevertheless, I had 100% bought into these expectations, to the point that I was thoroughly convinced that following the school-graduate-work formula would make me happy.
A couple of weeks ago, my parents sat down with me and told me that they didn't want me going back to school. I have been underweight for quite some time, and gaining weight has been a significant struggle. After a family vacation over Christmas caused me to lose a couple pounds that I simply couldn't afford, I understood that I was teetering on being in a dangerous place health-wise. I argued, though, that staying home would make no difference. I was going back to school, no matter what. I begged and begged my parents to reconsider, putting together a rigid proposal that consisted of me giving up all extracurriculars and activities, and agreeing that if I wasn't gaining weight I'd come home and go straight to the hospital if necessary. Literally all I'd be doing would be going to classes, eating, and sitting in my apartment trying to find ways to entertain myself that would be as non-strenuous as possible, but anything was better than not being at school. I had to feel like I was being productive and making progress in my life, if I wasn't at school I'd feel like I was just letting time waste away. We have such limited time on this planet, and I was terrified of not taking full advantage of every second I have.
By last Saturday, My flight was booked, my suitcase was packed, and goodbyes had been said to family and friends. My parents, who run their own business and are working pretty much 24/7, had taken a few hours off to entertain me the day before I left, and we were sitting at the table playing games when I began feeling intense melancholy about leaving. I've always been close with my family, so being half a country away from them is never easy, but I felt desperately that I didn't want to leave more than ever before. The dangers of my health situation weren't lost on me: many a night I've spent not sleeping because I'm afraid of not waking up. And, as I've learned over the past year, gaining weight can be an incredibly difficult and painful process, and being on my own felt incredibly daunting. Home was safe and supportive, and the lack of ability I would have to participate in things at school almost guaranteed I'd be pretty much isolated for much of the semester.
I was tempted to shrug off my anxieties as just pre-semester jitters, but as I sat at vigil mass that evening (where I was absolutely paying complete attention to the homily and not spacing out at all), my mind started racing about the practicalities of returning to school. Sure, I would be making progress towards my degree, but that's all I'd be doing. Everyone always tells me to take advantage of college, participate in everything I can, and gain every experience possible, because the time goes so fast. I was already feeling incredibly disappointed about all of the things I was going to be missing out on: I'd had to quit my job, I wouldn't be able to be in the show that my sister and I had been dreaming about putting on through our student-run theater company, and I couldn't sign up for any of the volunteer, church, or social events that usually kept me busy through the semester. It seemed like there was nothing to look forward to. Besides, being sick makes going through daily life much more challenging than it should be. I rarely have the energy to enjoy classes and activities the way I know I would if I was healthy; instead I'm often watching the clock waiting for them to be over. It dawned on me that I'd basically be wasting this semester, and I only had one year left of school. In 18 months, I would be out on my own, a real, full-blown adult. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do once I graduated, and I certainly didn't feel ready to be independent from my parents. I've learned recently that time goes REALLY fast when you start growing up; I feel like I should still be twelve years old so I'm not quite sure how I ended up being almost twenty already. Maybe you don't believe in God, but I do, and I firmly believe there was something in that church that night that snapped some sense into me. What was the point of rushing things? Was it worth using up an entire semester of my college career to go to class and nothing else? Who says that I am a failure if I graduate late? Sure, I wouldn't be "ahead" in terms of getting my degree, but I began to think that maybe I was wrong that I couldn't be a productive member of society unless I was graduated and working.
The truth is, for many years my sister and I have dreamed about writing a book, starting a blog, making a podcast, and so much more. We've always had big ambitions, but put off a lot of these things because I simply didn't have time while also in school. So, when it became clear that Ashley was going to have to take the semester off as well, it was confirmation that everything works out for the best. Success isn't defined by one prescribed path. Detours in life are unavoidable, and I'm beginning to realize that unexpected doesn't have to mean unacceptable. I won't lie, of course there is some part of me that feels like a failure for having to take time off. I'm working on it. But there is another part of me that feels proud that I came to the realization that I did, that I am able to go against what I have valued for so long and forge my own path, even if it's not the one I planned on. I feel exponentially more energized to wake up in the morning and create than I would have if I was waking up in the morning to go to a class that I would be too tired to enjoy and then staring at the wall all day, and I'm optimistic about what these next months hold for Ashley and I. It's waaaayyyyyy easier said than done, I know, but today I encourage you, dear reader, to be okay with choosing your own path. Ask yourself if the expectations you have of yourself are coming from you, or are they coming from society? Only you know what you want from this life, and sometimes getting what you want in the long run means making tough decisions in the short run. I am beginning to understand that it is okay to make the choice to take care of yourself. There should be no shame in putting yourself first. I feel we are all so often pressured into living for others, trying to mould our lives to fit how we think society wants us to live. It won't be easy, but I wonder how much happier we could be if we really tried to picture what we want out of life, and then went out there and pursued it.
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