It is midnight, and I am sitting, bleary-eyed and exhausted, in a Walmart McDonald's. My youngest brother, not yet understanding the disappointment of Black Friday shopping, has coerced me out into the cold (after eight hours of cooking for Thanksgiving,) all in the pursuit of a good deal.
However, as I sit, nibbling on some fries and regretting venturing out with so many other shoppers, I am overcome by a surge of overwhelming panic. Suddenly, I see a bland future unfolding for myself, in which all Thanksgivings are spent toiling in the kitchen, and all Black Fridays are spent squabbling over somewhat reduced prices.
While I blanch at these thoughts, this is not my first incident of dreading an unexceptional life. Now that I have been in college for nearly a semester, it has become easier to view a life for myself that is unremarkable. It is probable that after graduating with a decent resume and good grades, I will land a mid-level job that may or may not develop into a career, never get the chance to travel the world, and lock myself into an average, somewhat satisfying marriage. The goals and aspirations of writing and creating and living that I have now will eventually be dismissed as lofty, and will fade into the void of dreams that go unfulfilled. My goals will no longer be viewed as attainable, but as dreams: those gossamer confections that slip through our fingertips into the impossible.
I am terrified of the average. More specifically, I am terrified of being average. In my attempted avoidance of the ordinary, I have reached the conclusion that I am wasting my youth. In reality, I am probably not wasting my youth. I have not made any disastrous or destructive decisions, am reasonably bright, and am fortunate enough to be receiving an education at a nationally ranked university. Despite this, I am suffocated daily by the thought that I am running out of time.
In my mind, I am missing out on the chance to be a prodigy. I could be writing novels, reading and analyzing the classics, starting my own business, working to save money to travel, or drastically improving and honing the skills I have. I feel as if I do not distinguish myself as exceptional now, I never will have the chance to be. When I am a full-fledged adult, my hobbies and aspirations will not be interesting. They will simply just be. I am at the ripe age now where the possibility that any talents and hobbies I have can be further be developed are labeled as “potential.” In a few years, the potential will dry up, and my lacking to further myself will make me just as mundane as everyone else who failed to do the same.
For anyone else who feels this way, please know that our lives are not actually being wasted. We are too busy becoming the people we are meant to become before we discover our true passions in life.
