Whether we like it or not, we all have reputations. For me, it’s the studious good girl with a passion for writing and reading. I wrote for the school newspaper in high school, and most of my life was spent at a desk doing homework.
I am still this girl in many ways, but now I’m at college and my future is truly in my hands. The activities and classes I take now will set the tone for who I’m going to become, but I’m not entirely sure what interests me anymore.
Becoming an English major seemed like the obvious path when I was younger, but I no longer find the same joy in reading as I did when I was younger. Of course, I still love to do so, but I find myself spending my free time with Netflix more often than with the latest romance novel. I spent elementary and middle school racing through book after book, and now it’s rare if I read more than 10 books a year.
As for writing, there’s no poetry springing out of my mouth these days, no intricate similes and metaphors that take your breath away. Trying to create something beautiful out of words simply is not a hobby of mine anymore, and it’s definitely not as easy as it used to be.
I am no longer the bookworm and the poet.
I feel like I lost a core part of who I am, but I’m not sure if or why I miss it. People always associated me with novels and writing, and sometimes I feel this irrational sense of obligation to keep being the person they know me as. In a sense, I have to like reading and writing because they were the foundation of my personality for so many years.
The thing is, I want to do more than just fiddle with words in my life. I was never athletic before, but I find joy today in rock climbing and volleyball, even if I’m not good at either. There are things I want to do and be that fall outside of the bookworm framework I so carefully built.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ve romanticized the idea of being the quiet girl who loves reading and writing, and that’s why I cling to this image. Then I wonder if I’m forcing myself to be someone I’m not just for the sake of change. That’s the thing about growing up — we’re stuck in the frustrating limbo of making a name for ourselves while trying to figure out who we are in the first place.
I haven’t figured out the answers to these questions yet. I know it’s a process that will take hours of introspection and experimentation with new hobbies, and I’m going to doubt myself often. I will probably always have a soft spot for poetry and romance novels, and maybe someday down the road, I’ll find a spark of inspiration and turn into my old self again. Maybe not.
Perhaps I’m destined to love the things I’m mediocre at. I will never be a star volleyball player or gym junkie, but then again life is full of surprises. Maybe I’m destined to be all of these things.
