As the fall semester continues, I find myself slowly feeling like me again. The issue with that statement, however, is the fact that traits of myself that I would typically pride myself upon disappeared the moment I went back home for summer break. Suddenly, I was thrown back into my old teenage hysterics once the very people who had shaped my adolescence congregated back in my hometown. I mean, I haven’t even entered my twenties, yet I felt stagnant. Theodore Roosevelt explained perfectly that “comparison is the thief of joy.”
I spent my first year of university striving for authenticity. A new city with new people objectively sounded like the epitome of a blank canvas where I could paint an image of the person I always wanted to be. People now saw me in the light that I chose them to see me in — my authentic self. Don’t get me wrong, my first year had its own baggage that nobody could’ve prepared me for, but I wore the clothes I wanted, listened to my favorite bands, and danced in public when I heard my favorite song. I was looking at life with rose-tinted glasses and was excited for what these next four years had in store for me.
Looking back on it, people are beautifully unique mosaics that can be altered, but the predominant characteristic of mosaics is that the art is derived from old, broken pieces that sum together to make a, sometimes messy, but cohesive image. The people I know from back home have seen every version of myself that I have tried to break to the point where I don’t even remember those past versions. I haven’t spoken to most of my classmates since we all parted ways. Nevertheless, catching a glimpse of them in my peripheral vision can remind me in a split second that their impression of me will always be who I was, and it’s an uncomfortable feeling. I used to lack confidence and security, traits that are now foundational characteristics for who I currently am. I mean, that was the last impression they remember of me so who’s to blame?
I initially wanted to write about comparing myself to others since I believe that is what Roosevelt meant when evoking the sentiment. Specifically, I wanted to talk about how I was comparing the lives of my former classmates to mine and the toll it had on me. However, as I continue typing, I’m realizing that I’m not comparing myself to others, rather I’m comparing myself to myself. I am proud to say that I’m a person that my younger self would look up to, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that I have my own insecurities and flaws that skew the reflection I see in the mirror. Returning home for the summer reminded me of the person I was, and sometimes I miss her. She was insecure and made some horrible decisions, but there was something comfortable about how unserious life used to be. Although I have my close group of girlfriends that I love with all my heart, life has gotten significantly lonelier as I walk through campus among thousands of students who have equally important lives to my own. But who’s to compare? I am living the life I want to live on my terms now, and that was more than enough until I began reminiscing on the past, ultimately leading to rumination.
I began spiraling about my old friend groups and how carefree life was, essentially disregarding all the hard times that my adolescence entailed because when you look back at a period of life, you typically remember the good times over the bad. It’s the same reasoning as to why toxic relationships exist. Nobody wants to suffer, but sometimes the suffering feels worthy for those instantaneous moments of peace. Nonetheless, there’s a way to appreciate the life you’ve lived without mourning it and understanding the burden that every stage of life offers. Unfortunately, I have yet to decipher the way to do so.
All that comparison has brought to my life is distress and grief because nothing is good enough anymore, not even adequate. Am I living the way I had always hoped? Yes, but life has changed in a plethora of ways that are normal throughout the process of maturing. Thus, I spent all summer grieving who I had been instead of being who I am, and now I’m feeling dazed and confused in regard to who I want to be: who I was or who I am. In all reality, there is no going back to who you were. Your mosaic is currently in progress, building off your past to create your present. I believe there is no way to escape the past, that you are your past, but there’s a way to reflect on it as a building block to your present and future. Comparing does nothing but continue to shatter your mosaic until it is broken beyond repair. In simple terms, it halts the progress of your life. Leaving home for university was one of the best decisions I ever made to progress my life, but I need to cope with the fact that every time I go home, my past is there, and that’s okay. There is no avoiding who you were, but there is a chance to build who you are. Nothing will ever feel quite good enough when you are consumed with comparison, and you will ultimately lose your ability to see what’s right in front of you — your life.