You’re bored so you feel like you have to do something. Such is the curse of idle hands at the Ivy League. Boredom is something that is simply unbecoming at this crucial point in your life. Any time you spend pondering what to do next or what to think about is time that you should be using to prove yourself.
To prove why you’re here. And sure, you got here, and that should be enough. But we all know that it isn’t.
Why do you belong here? A constant question at the back of your mind, and no, it isn’t the standard ‘imposter syndrome’ because at this point you realize that everyone feels that way or has felt that way at some point walking through campus. No. It’s something a bit more than that, yet you can’t find the words to describe how or why.
Months ago you were special; you were a ‘role model’, deemed the epitome of success. All because a room full of people that you never met decided that they liked that one, quasi-comical turn of phrase you shoe horned into your application. Of course, all of this fades when you realize that you weren’t the only special one. None of us were that special to begin with but our parents somehow find a way to convince us otherwise.
How proud they are of you.
How hard you’ve worked.
How much you wanted this.
And sometimes you remember that you did want this. For so long. You worked your entire life for this and now that you have it, it’s almost impossible to enjoy it because you’re focused on the next thing. The thing that will earn you that coveted spot on the list of notable alumni on the Wikipedia page. Ah, what bliss and euphoria to see your name on such a list.
Is that proving yourself?
Do you prove yourself to your institution once you’re already out of it?
If so, what will you do?
But this, right here, this is the proving ground. So what will you do?
You’re not sure and you have no starting point.
You see, I write this because it calms my nerves. Writing has always calmed my nerves and I can’t really explain why. I’ve always loved to listen to myself talk, so why I choose a medium in which my diction and cadence are lost?
It’s because it’s home to you. The sound of the keys clacking as you finally come up with something to fool yourself into thinking that you’re somehow making progress simply because a few words now litter the formerly blank expanse that has taunted you for weeks. It feels, looks, and sounds like progress. And for a few measly minutes, you’re subdued. The frenzy of thoughts that has polluted your mind…finally appeased.
The truth is, there is no real progress. You have known this since the beginning.
You never read over anything that you write because you’re afraid. Afraid it’s no good. Afraid of edits that you won’t know how to perfect. Afraid that you’re doing this just for the sake of doing it.
It’s funny to be afraid of something that you already know. Something that you experience all too often. But the fear comes not from the things that we haven’t faced yet, nor from the things we don’t wish to face again, but from the things we know are inevitable.