I searched my name up on Facebook the other day and saw four Rachel Santarsiero's staring back at me. Four, tiny profiles with their own hometowns, relationship statuses, and birthdays. When we die, our headstones will be identical. Here lies Rachel Santarsiero, daughter of, mother of, friend of...numbers one, two, three, four. When I die, give me a timeline, not a headstone.
My entire life up to this point has consisted of balancing the ideas of individualism and normalcy. I think back to high school murals. "Be unique!" they say. "Be your own person!" But while you're at it, also remember to get good grades and find a good job and make good money. Eat. Sleep. Be Normal. Repeat. An acceptable 40-year career and the promise of a respectable retirement fund sounds a lot less motivational when painted along the walls of a high school. It seems these days that the world simply isn't big enough to encompass both uniqueness and societal acceptance.
Sometimes I wish I were smarter. Sometimes I have these unthinkable jealousies and I wish I could form these ideas that other people think up. I wish I had invented the light bulb, or created the Internet, or painted "Starry Night." How could I be so stupid? Why didn't I develop the theory of relativity in my spare time? I'm starting to worry that I'm common.
I think a lot about the potential of my own tangible trace. What I'll leave behind for the people that might happen to search my name on the Internet. But I've stated before there's a good chance I'll never do anything. This really scares me. It scares me to think the only thing separating me from the three other Rachel Santarsiero's on the Internet is my hometown, relationship status and birthday.
In the back of my mind, I think I have this vague idea I'm going to change the world. I think about the countries I'll travel to one day and the people I'll meet. I think about sailing across the ocean just because and climbing mountains and curing world hunger and making peace. In the back of my head I assure myself that Future Rachel will accomplish all of this.
But maybe I should focus less on this stranger I have never met before, less on this intangible idea of utopia. The only person I have ever known is Present Rachel and she wants to be an individual. I can't solve world hunger tomorrow and there's a slim chance I will be sailing across the ocean two months from now. But every day, I strive to stand out and step back from the habitual process and routine I am so often entrapped by.
I've been alive for 7,193 days, so it's safe to say my life has started. With each event I add to my timeline, comes the chance to move towards individualism and step away from generality. What I do today is going to be important. I'm going to write it down. I'm going to be the only Rachel Santarsiero like me. What I do today had better be important; I'm exchanging a day of my life for it.
