There is nothing worse than the dread that fills my heart and the way my stomach drops when the last three days of the year come around. December 29th, December 30th and December 31st have the power to cause me paralyzing anxiety, the kind that comes only when my future is brought up, and uncertainty infiltrates my mind.
The 29th is the day before my birthday, when all I can do is think about the fact that tomorrow, I’m turning a year older. The 30th is my birthday, a day that should be spent celebrating but is rather consumed with the reminder that I’m now officially a day older. And the 31st is the last day of the year, where I’m forced to confront the fact that the years are slipping away. These days only remind me that with the passage of time, things like graduation, college and leaving my family and friends are coming closer. The unfortunate placement of my “special day” meant three days were spent spiraling rather than celebrating, only constantly thinking about the fact that I’m a year older and heading into a new year.
Ever since I was young, the passage of time and getting older unsettled me. I worried that growing older meant not being able to do the things I loved anymore, transitioning from coloring sheets to time tables and picture books to textbooks. As I’m growing older, I’m getting used to these changes, but now, being 17 means that this unknown future, where I begin to leave everything I’ve ever known, is only looming closer, as if I’m inching towards the edge of a cliff where I can’t tell what’s at the bottom.
I’ve always been someone who needed to know exactly what was happening, when it was happening and how it was happening. Creating plans, lists and schedules has always been a method to ground myself and ensure that I have things under control. As the future inches closer, I plan to the best of my ability, so much so that a few summers ago, I created “Radhika’s Future Plan.” A glittering display of exactly how my future would progress, using magazine cutouts and a canvas sheet to aesthetically map out who I wanted to be for the rest of my life. What schools I wanted to attend, where I wanted to work, where I wanted to live and even when I wanted to get married. I pinned it right above my desk, and it stared at me as if to say, “If all goes well, if you work hard enough, this is exactly what will happen. This is what you want.”
The night of the 29th, I sat anxiously thinking about what turning 17 would entail. I couldn’t help but stare at that plan until reality snuck its way into my mind. I realized how slim the chance was that everything in my outline would go exactly as I planned. Questions like, “What if I don’t get in? What if I never get a job? Do I even want those things anymore?” plagued my consciousness. I’d subjected myself to such a specific vision of my future that anything else caused me to panic and feel like I was “failing.” Anxious and desperate, I looked for something to turn my mind to, another plan to outline, another list to make, but I was stuck — how do you plan for something you know nothing about?
On the 30th, for the most part, I was surrounded by people I loved with good conversation and good food. But a small part of my mind kept reminding me that I was 17 now. You’re wasting time, you only have a year left, have you even amounted to anything in these 17 years?
A typical tradition in my family is to go through old family videos, laughing at the silly, childlike innocence of my sister and me. With my family tucked into the couch, we began watching my early videos from when I was four and five. There was one video that we stumbled upon, where I’m animatedly describing how I want my future wedding to look. I was rambling a list of things I wanted — pink cupcakes, a purple dress, a princess necklace — and as I watched, the list growing more and more outrageous, my smile only grew wider. While I was watching the video, I realized what a whimsical, carefree vision I had of my future. Of course, I was just a little kid, but I realized that the fear I had of this unknown future was entirely internal, and that the future is only as serious as I make it.
I can’t stop being afraid of the future; it’s not something that I can fix with a snap of my fingers, but I can acknowledge that not knowing what will happen is not entirely a bad thing. Instead of thinking about all the ways in which I might “fail,” I can think about all the people I’m yet to meet, all the places I’ll go and all the opportunities I’ll be lucky enough to take.
When I was five years old, I was petrified on my first day of kindergarten, afraid of what everyone in the class would think of me, but those years turned out to be the most fun and formative in my life. At 11, I was just as nervous about starting middle school, but I made lifelong friends and memories. And then when I was 14, high school seemed like the most unknown chapter in my life, but so far, it’s working out OK too. Who’s to say that what comes after high school won’t work out as well?
So, dear reader,
It’s completely normal to fear the future. As high schoolers, we’re in a position where we’re trying to cherish our high school years, all while being nostalgic for the past and worrying about the years to come. But no matter how much that fear consumes you, constantly remind yourself that it’ll all work out, and you will inevitably end up exactly where you belong. In the meantime, these years will fly by, so don’t let the anticipatory anxiety stop you from enjoying the present. Take it from me.
Sincerely,
