Why am I going to College? There is the question I’ve been struggling with, suffering with, for all my years of high school, and perhaps even for some years before (on and off). But only now, after high school (just a few weeks after high school), have I felt the freedom to actually ask it (and also the words to express it, within the currently-convenient context of College). 

So that’s my question. Why am I going to College? What is there that is a part of me? I’ve been on the conveyer belt for twelve years now, and now I’m starting to understand and be more solidly capable of naming this pain, the torture that’s been almost, but not wholly, my entire world (for school is a great part of each kid’s life as they grow). 

Here’s one instance of how I came about this thought (I say one instance because it seems to always have to be repeated to me at least twice before I start to believe it): Since I can remember, I’ve felt this pain, this hurt that I’ve really always had, but that was always most pronounced when I was not at school, was not away from home, when I was at home, in my room, with my family, in my most personal of places, my most comfortable place, the place where I not only called home but was home and could most be me (and for that I am really grateful, for I would’ve otherwise gone on in a perpetual state of denial and of trying to adapt to the “luxurious cynicism and world-wisdom” that some adults try to convince the adolescents of). 
In an effort to identify the cause of this pain (with the aim of “solving” the problem), this was my train of thought: I am hyper-aware, of everything. I see adults who are beautiful people to me; they’re reading a book so I pick it up and when I read it, I read it to try to find out what is so great about it that could attract those beautiful adults to it. I want what they have; I want to be beautiful like I know they are. But of course, I can’t find anything, and that makes me even more determined. So I read every word and store as much as I can, because I don’t know what I’m looking for. I don’t want to miss anything so I take in everything, because anything, any word, could be that something I need to be beautiful. 

And I drive myself to the point of despair. I figure: something must be wrong with ME. I should try harder. “A man never rises higher than when he does not know whither his path can still lead him.” I was looking for a quick way to a goal that really doesn’t exist. There is no standard of amazingness and beauty by which all people can be measured. 

[And I know, listening to myself write, how obvious most of what I say seems. But that’s just it! It’s so simple, and so human, that we don’t think it’s good enough. It’s such a core human thing. God, I can be so stupid sometimes.] 

And it’s true, and I’ve felt it (a few times—that I can remember—in high school, much more now within the few weeks I’ve been out of high school, and I’m sure in a sort of perpetual state in elementary school, so perpetual then that it didn’t need to be a revelation and didn’t need a name, it was Me). And each time I’ve noted it, it’s been at a marvelous moment where there were no standards and no pressures on my mind. I had no question that I was not worth-ful, that I had everything I need already inside me. I just wasn’t ready to understand. And there is no reason to hurry.

So, my declaration of independence: I have my own way. I am leaving you my torture, and if you come by my way some time, I will respect your place and I will see you, but that is all. I will not insult You and kill Me by conforming. You cannot convince me to deny Me anymore. “I appeal from your customs. I must be myself. I cannot break myself any longer for you, or you. If you can love me for what I am, we shall be the happier. If you cannot, I will still seek to deserve that you should. I will not hide my tastes or aversions. I will so trust that what is deep is holy, that I will do strongly before the sun and moon whatever inly rejoices me, and the heart appoints. If you are noble, I will love you; if you are not, I will not hurt you and myself by hypocritical attentions. If you are true, but not in the same truth with me, cleave to your companions; I will seek my own.” [only Emerson].

I had convinced myself that there was something wrong with myself, that I had to follow them and figure it out. Well they can stuff it; those that have convinced themselves, have given up on the questions and turned their despair into a sort of respectable old wisdom-y mind state, to be revered by us young souls. I had thought I had to prove myself to the world. No. Let the world prove itself to you! Do not allow it to set your standards, to convince you of some futility in your questions. Your questions are always right because they are You. Your questions are beautiful because they are human. [And, frankly, to experience these questions is to be one of the lucky ones.] As soon as I began to despair I began to deny my humanity. Do not despair. Take in what you can at the moment, ask one question at a time, and do not worry about getting all the answers right away. If it is the right question, it will never be lost to you, if you let it be it will, some time, translate into a sort of resolution, an answer, and the question will then cease to be a pain, but rather a friend (a true friend who crossed your path once and reminded you of something about You that you had forgotten). Be patient: 

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a foreign tongue . . . Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer” [Rainer Maria Rilke]. 

If all else fails, at least I have Peter Pan: “To live would be an awfully big adventure! ...”