Well, if I were you, I'd be wondering... what the flying fladoddle does an 18-year-old suburban girl know about sacrifice and self-imposed good-byes?
Yup, you are not mistaken. I don't.
In my tucked-in universe, full of rainbows and giggles and occasional thunderstorms, I've been fortunate enough to have only ever really seen hellos and see ya laters. Enveloped by stagnancy and reliable routine, I am reassured that I am doing something right. Right?...
Sleep, shower, eat, school, any extra-curricular teenage Margaret finds interesting in that moment, homework, study, essays, eat, YouTube videos, facetime calls, sleep (x365)
Commitments at my age are loosely established, since my youth breeds my indecisiveness. I leap from one activity to the next, seeking for the next thrill and learning experience. However, as fickle-minded as I may be, once passion and interest kicks me in the shin, I am unstoppable. I am sucked in. Blinded. Hellos are constantly yearned, and goodbyes are erased from my mind completely.
Once I find that spark, letting go is quite literally let go.
Now that I found my passions in writing and politics and history, there was a point in my life where I said to myself yes, this is it. This is me.
But as I took full advantage of such opportunities, I lost interest in the unknown, as uncertainty seemingly became a thing of the past. I assumed my hunger was satiated, that all my self-doubting questions were answered. And boy, was it the greatest feeling.
There, in the humble abode of my computer, as well as shaking politicians' hands, I peeled my layers one by one, maturity seeping through. In the process, however, my evolvement became one-dimensional; and somehow, I thought it was the end.
In reality, that is me. But I've come to realize, that is not all of me.
There is so much more of me I am not yet aware of. Passions, instead of stopping growth, should merely enhance my character. My life, our lives, is a lifetime of self-discoveries.
We will be re-introduced to ourselves over and over again. Our passions, tastes, and ticks will transform, change, and take on different shapes.
Go on, set them free. As free as Ed Asner releases his house into the vast sky (Up did not only make me tear, my eyes were also swollen the same time I found inspiration).
That doesn't mean I will stop writing or end my political activism completely; instead, I will continue on, but never allow them to define me. Well, not just yet. I will let other opportunities to manifest, allowing myself to soak them in.
I will always write. I will always inject my political opinion. But most of all, I am a piece of clay--malleable, dynamic, and ever-evolving.
As I am about to enter a new phase of my life in less than five months (ahhhhhhHHH), college will catapult this clay into action. She will take shape in various endeavors, countries, internships, classes, social groups, and maybe, even sports *gasps*.
Once I take form, I'll meet her again. And hopefully, her smile will luster the same way it sparkles when I craft a beautiful and emotional sentence.
Though this art of letting go may seem to solely accommodate my current personal endeavors, don't fret, for as I see it, such a mindset is universal. Letting go doesn't necessarily mean farewell, for that experience or memory will remain perpetually engraved in our very existence.
We are our past, present, and future, but they do not dictate our potential, our intricacies.
High school Margaret, this isn't a goodbye, but a ticket to meet many more Margarets.
Take letting go as an invitation, not as a sign of weakness. It welcomes us to experiences, people, and feelings anew, enhancing our original ticks in a completely different light. Accept release as a blessing.
The newest chapter to our never-ending novel.
As always, au revior.