I feel as if the past few months have been composed of discovery after discovery. Before I arrived at college, I was shy and dependent on everyone else, but I’ve developed exponentially and had the perfect group of friends. However, something I often find myself transfixed on is the idea of potential and becoming that one thing I was born to be. All our lives, we are told how much we possess, we are reminded of it when others ask about our aspirations and we are frightened of it when we find ourselves nose to nose with it.

All my life, I knew what I wanted to be. When I no longer wanted to be a teacher, I wanted to be an astronaut. When I learned space was just one big void, I wanted to be a pilot. Now, as a declared business major, I have never been quite so lost. It is now that I think back to all the times I was reminded of my potential. There has never been a time in life that I couldn’t identify a career that interested me, but at this very moment in time, I am aware of so many possibilities that it feels unfeasible to commit to any one path.

The most fitting way I can explain what I am feeling is by comparing this nagging feeling of doubt to a jigsaw puzzle. Back in kindergarten, when I learned my home had an address and the phone had a number and I wanted to be a teacher, my figurative puzzle was the size of a piece of paper. Large and virtually insignificant were the pieces, only a few needed to complete a whole image. However, as I grew, the puzzle got complicated. I imagine my puzzle now to be too sprawling to fit on any table, too large to be completed in one day or even two. The pieces exist in an abounding number and my own two hands are incapable of working at the pace at which the pieces appear. It is now that I question my own potential. Growing up with so many dreams in my heart, some more outlandish than others means that I must now abandon some, trade them for the things reality has to offer. It is this alone that makes me feel as though I am settling.

If you were to ask me as a sophomore in high school where I would see myself by college, I would’ve told you something dramatically different than what has actually played out. I would’ve told you I wanted to attend New York University and attain a degree in Political Science. I would’ve told you I would be fifty pounds lighter and my hair would be longer and I would have more people in my list of contacts. Now I attend a small university, my weight has barely fluctuated an ounce, my hair barely brushes my shoulders and my contact list is somehow shorter than ever.

It is my understanding that what I am feeling never truly gets better, but people learn to live with the idea that their puzzles keep expanding out of control. This worries me to an extent that I cannot begin to communicate. I stand now in the prime of my life. I attend an institute of higher learning with an impeccable reputation and a history of producing successful alumni. There will never be a time better than the present to explore each open door, but busying myself with that task seems exhausting. Often I sit back and watch those around me. They run here and there, chaotic in nature. Somedays I am delighted that I am not one of them, but others I am envious that I do not embody a passion so powerful that I, too, am overtaken.

And so I continue to sit, waiting for a spark that ignites a fire within me, grasping wildly for a helping hand, a guiding light. Anything to assist me in uncovering that one aspect of life that drives me forward. Day by day, I grow closer to that revelation and it is that knowledge that harbors my heart and protects me from losing my wits.