College- the best four years of your life as mandated by your debt collection agency. You will be hard-pressed to find a more confused, lonely, and disillusioned bunch than college students. And it’s no wonder- one minute, we’re finishing high school without a care in the world and the next we’re worrying about things like paying tuition, doing taxes, and where we fit in a world we know nothing about.
First term freshman year, I was a complete train wreck. I was so stressed and high-strung that I broke about half the cutlery in my dorm and knocked over the rest. And yet that state of utter confusion was beautiful because it drove me to think, to push, to question my beliefs and the beliefs of those around me, as well as the quality of my life and what to make of its insignificance.
Here is a small, but significant, part of what I learned:
You are not your accomplishments
Your grades, your extracurriculars, the amount of medals you’ve won or money you’ve made, the places you did or did not see, the people you do or do not know- none of these things define you. I used to cling to my academic success as a sign of my worth- my experience, as well as those around me, had spent a lifetime dictating that good grades are central to a student’s identity. But over the past year I’ve come to see that letting your identity, your whole sense of self, rest on numbers is a recipe for disaster- not only is it such a superficial and unstable way to see yourself, but it is such a small, limiting way to define the vastness and depth of who you are.
That’s not to say I don’t do well in school- I still believe the pursuit of knowledge is one of the most honorable acts possible- but I am also an education-oriented person (something, I’ve also learned, not all people are- and that’s okay too). So I still study and learn to the fullest, but I do so because the acquisition of information brings me actual, deep joy. And I’m much calmer about my methods; I know that no all-nighter is worth the extra points, no amount of coffee is worth my health, and an hour spent talking to friends is much better for the human condition than an extra hour flipping through index cards.
There is no answer (everyone is just as confused as you are)
Remember when we thought grownups were superheros? I know I’m not alone in thinking that there was some exclusive “grownup club” that had the answer to things like making money and curing the flu, and once I was worthy, my parents would hand me an initiation letter and it would contain all the world’s secrets that I was too young to understand.
Lo and behold- I’ve grown up to discover that no one actually knows what the fuck is going on.
Of course, most of my illusions about grownups were stripped away slowly throughout high school, but the first year of college removed any last bit of age-disillusionment like that last block in jenga before the whole tower collapses. I think we all know by now that grownups don’t really have all the answers. What that leaves us, younger people, with is a more justified sense of presence. I have always believed that wisdom comes with age-and I still do- but now I know that my opinions, ideas, and beliefs hold just as much authority in the world as any adult’s. They may not yet be as polished or age-tested, as that of my elders, but they deserve to be heard, discussed, and, if needed, refuted, as much as anyone else’s. Call this growing up if you will, but it’s a relief to know being old doesn’t make you right- being right does.
Very few things actually matter
When you are stressed, when you are nervous, when you become angry at the world, when you race against time, when your lungs do not get enough air, when there are not enough commas to separate all your worries or enough periods to punctuate all your sentences- stop. It’s rarely easy, but the second you feel that first round of tension in your body, that first tightening inside your mind, know that you will need to overcome the inertia of your thoughts if you are ever to find peace. Sit down on your wooden floor with eyes closed and being to listen. Let the nagging child in you insist unabashedly that you have other things to do, that you are wasting valuable time. Let your self be worried, uncomfortable, uncomprehending of buzz inside your brain, and let that be the time when I remind you- I’ve learned that nothing is more important than hearing the sound of passing trains or feeling the breeze inside my pores; because whatever it is I think I am running towards that is worth forgetting the way air vibrates through my lungs when I breathe is already here, waiting for me to come back from searching for it.
Over time, it becomes easier to go about my day remembering what’s real. It becomes effortless to be present with friends rather than mulling over a term paper because I remember love, to walk slower and breathe deeper, to choose sleep over stress, compassion over anger, and life over movement. Immediately, all my complaints vanish, my anger disintegrates, and my tension disappears, because I remember that the only things that matter are saying “Yes” to love, and what a beautiful thing it is to be alive.
The Misplaced Millennial 