As a senior, I have to prove myself to a lot of people. When I applied to jobs, I had to write a resume that flaunted my “interpersonal skills” and “leadership abilities.” I had to hold my head up high during interviews and press down my shaking leg. This semester while applying to colleges, I had to write a handful of essays telling the admission offices what I could bring to the school, how invaluable my teamwork ability and imagination are. And it will only go uphill from here; once I get to college, I’ll have to apply to clubs and internships, going to office hours so there might be a chance the professor will recognize me enough to write a good letter of recommendation. After college, I’ll be applying to jobs left to right, trying to establish my character and worth, even though I won’t have a clue what I’m doing.

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I suppose that’s the price I have to pay for some form of stability. I’ll have to prove myself to everyone so I can stay afloat, land a job, pay rent, do whatever adults do.

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But these high-stakes make me strangely nostalgic for something I’ve never had: the American teenage dream. 

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Everyone’s seen those teenage movies, right? A nerdy kid who stays inside all day suddenly meets that one classmate that shoves them out of their bubble. They go to parks, break into abandoned buildings, sneak out after midnight. Suddenly, they don’t need good grades or approval to feel satisfied with their life; it feels like all is right with the world. 

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I’m not condoning trespassing or breaking curfew, but looking back on the past eighteen years of my life, I have to wonder if my childhood could have been different. Could I have been worrying about my grades and external validation less, and spend more time cherishing my last years before going off into the world? Could I have read more books, visited more places, and explored my inner world even more? And looking into my twenties, I have to wonder if I’ll still be fighting over everyone’s approval. Will I ever be satisfied with how I’m living now, in the present?

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Over the summer, I took some moments to do things for myself. I biked outside everyday while the sun was setting, music pumping through my earbuds. I went on breakfast picnics with my friends from church where we shared cookies and our worries for the future. I read every day in the small corner of my room, exploring a new world between the lines. I did things for the sake of doing them, not for a class or for college applications. I lived slowly and intentionally, and it was the best I felt in a long time.

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It’s always an ongoing process; as someone who grew up thinking that my grades defined my self worth, it’s been hard to take the time to do things that feel essential to me. As I try to balance external expectations with my own ambitions, I’ve been learning to take some moments to live for myself and not for anyone else. To just stop and breathe.