[EXCERPT FROM ESSAY TODAY I ASKED MYSELF MY STORY] [I AM A WRITER, NOT A DOCTOR. CLICK TO READ MEDICAL DISCLAIMER]
If you were to graph the course of my life from the last five years up to now, it would probably resemble a strong, steady line, registering only a few slight spikes and dips, but not unlike what I imagine the flight path of an airplane would look like once it’s reached a cruising altitude. I’m curious if outwardly it might seem like I’m stalled, like perhaps I lack the motivation to move upwards, or downwards, or anywhere at all. Peace is like that, isn’t it? Unassuming until continued inaction is interpreted as complacency…
So, to the beholder, it may look like I’ve flatlined—but to me, this calm sense of predictable stability is my personal summit—the highest point I could’ve ever dreamed of reaching after a tragedy. To have, hold, and delight in my family is an achievement that will never be lost on me again. As I spend this summer watching joy broadcasted through the eyes of my six- and three-year-old while they discover all the shimmering possibility this season has to offer them, I am grateful to be able to hold such precious moments in the present, fully blinded by delight, and bask and tend to the gleaming peace produced therein.
Time, however, dependably marches on, alongside its faithful travel partner, change. As my gaze drifts hopefully ahead once more, I sense the energy of an impending transition on the horizon, like the tangible shifting between seasons, and I realize that my sense of calm satisfaction is transforming for the first time in forever into desire. I recognize this feeling from my first semester of college, this nascent, hopeful yearning, where curiosity doesn’t feel punishable by forces outside of my control, but where life’s possibility feels infinite.
Hoping (as always) to define and therefore prepare for the next stage of my life, I have asked myself what potential progress in this coming phase might look like for me. What uncharted territory do I still have to explore? The immediate word that springs to mind is “thrive.” Going back to the function paradoxes play in helping us understand their respective extremes, my twenties have taught me (relative to my experience) all too well what it means to do the opposite. To merely “survive.” To suffer in the famine of uncertainty. To perpetually brace myself for the invisible anvil in the sky. To never again lock my knees when I take tentative steps towards the future. To frisk each moment of happiness for documentation that it’s allowed to exist. To suspiciously eye every shred of ambition for ulterior motives. To fear, the higher I climb up the mountain, the further down I have to fall. To detach myself from fulfillment before life beats me to the punch. To find more comfort in the shadows than I do in the light.
But I have done well over the last half-decade to shake off some of these reflexive “survival mode” tendencies that still lay around like tripwires in my habits. I can use them, at least to help me define a more expansive definition of what it will mean to me to “thrive.” So far, I have come up with: to not settle for good-enough, but to strive for all-the-way. To measure moments by what I have to gain instead of lose. To squeeze every ounce of vitality out of my daily decisions. To no longer sabotage my success. To learn the function of self-deprecating humor is not (always) an appropriate response to compliments. To let my life, my decisions, and my heart reflect my hope, not my doubt. To not dwell in my deficits, but fully align with my worth. To never turn a blind eye to mental health, but to step out of the shadows once and for all and into the light. To watch life’s possibility gracefully unfold before me and to let it.
And finally, to never again be overcome by the diminishing futility of my life, but instead to live in accordance with its utility, or in other words, to utilize my life for something greater. Because, if once upon a time futility made me feel hopeless, what might life be like, if I let the hopefulness of utility illuminate the path forward?
Until tomorrow,
Tess
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