During my freshman year of high school, my Civics teacher assigned us to constitute a Minnesota bill that later would be passed or failed by the class. My bill legalized gay marriage. This was an extremely controversial topic in Minnesota at the time. For it to pass, I had to create a perfect bill containing concise facts and arguments proving the importance of marriage equality.

After weeks of research and countless hours spent editing and re-editing my bill, I was ready to present. Confident I went in, and even more so I came out. My bill passed 27 to two. I left class that day feeling more accomplished than ever. While walking down my high school hallway with a huge smile on my face, I spotted my boyfriend. Let’s call him Nick. Quickly I caught up to him and began boasting about my triumph. Throughout the conversation he held the same obstinate facial expression and said very little. I could tell that he was not impressed. The next day, I confronted him about his reaction to my bill and he explained his skepticism towards homosexuality. In his eyes, homosexuality was solely a choice. Even though his feedback was not surprising, providing his Christian views, I took his perspective as a challenge.

For the next year, I attempted to prove him wrong. Deliberately I rehashed my side on gay marriage in every way, shape and form. But it did not matter how resiliently I tried, he would not budge. His ignorance towards my beliefs made me want to scream. I did not want to accept the fact that I could not win. But finally, I hit my breaking point. At that moment of exhausted defeat, I shocked myself with a metamorphic concept: no matter what I said, Nick would only believe what he wanted.

That notion goes for everyone.

It would not have mattered if Nick tried to influence me against homosexuality, I would have supported it despite his opinions. I was going to stand firm in my beliefs because those beliefs made me who I am. So why did I think I would get him to agree with my ideas?

With my newly found insight I realized that no matter how right I think I am, not everyone is going to see through my eyes. Rather, only through their own. I figured that in actuality, my notions can only be part of their prescription, not their glasses. This part can help them to see things through my perspective, but not automatically, if ever, change their beliefs. In other words, I may be able to aid the eyes of another, but I will never be able to force them to see.

As I kick off my Odyssey career, I felt as though this topic was perfect. It was a lesson that I needed to reconcile within myself as I begin share my loud opinions and thinking patterns with the world. To be completely honest, this article is for me. But still a story you hopefully have related with as well.

Through this failure to change my boyfriend's opinion on homosexuality, I was able to see the beauty of the world's individuality and autonomy. Nick, I, and everyone else abides their own person, with their own ideas and their own beliefs.

My opinion matters, but so does everyone else's.