The Winner Takes It All

As I chew this garlic bagel with cream cheese as a substitute to my preferred plain, purchased with the five dollar bill I had forgotten was in the pocket of an old jean jacket, I can't help but marvel at how incredibly stuck I am. Stuck in the sense that  my privileged, suburban teenage life is going absolutely nowhere; at least not in any sense that matters.

 

Today I headed over to one of the local supermarkets in our lovely bubble of a town in the hopes of getting hired. While I sat on the bench near the entrance, waiting for the manager to return from the bank, my worst demon, Mr. Social Anxiety, crept his way into my mind and before I knew it, I was out the automatic doors and on my way home. A sense of defeat gnawed at my core as I walked past landmarks that have become a part of who I am, and I grew more and more frustrated at my incapability to get a move on with my life. Whether it was the fear of rejection, or that of failure, or the overall feeling that no one would ever want or like me, even for a job, I just couldn't will myself to stay on that silly bench. 

 

I know that I've grown a lot lately, and that I should give myself credit for that, but it always seems to be in ways that I want, rather than in ways that I need. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing, but my alleged growth has done nothing to help me in terms of practicality. I can definitely say that I am remarkably more emotionally stable now that I was months ago. I'm proud of how often I've been writing lately, testing out different styles and exploring new techniques left and right. I've found a sense of identity and have solidified my beliefs and voiced out my opinions, namely about the importance of feminism, in the hopes that I can make people more aware. I'm grateful to have been granted an editorial internship with the help of my principal; an opportunity I wouldn't be able to have otherwise.

 

Yet, despite all of this, the reality of it is that I'm tired of being Daddy's Little Girl, a spoiled brat, a privileged rich kid, and any other title that comes with the part. I loathe and am extremely embarrassed about the fact that I am still driven places, and that my main source of money is my father's wallet. The degree of my dependency is absolutely humiliating, and must so desperately come to an end. But every time I try, someone else always seems to swoop in, leaving me empty handed and rejected. I often wonder if these are the doings of the universe and if I'm trapped in a never ending karmic cycle with no way out, but I guess that's up to the Fates to decide.

 

What boggles me the most is the level of ease at which other people my age seem to be able to attain these simple desires, and still have the audacity to complain about employment, a salary, transportation, and overall independence. God only knows how much I want all of those things: to be able to have my own money, to be able to drive myself places, and overall, to have a sense of control, and rid myself of this feeling of complete and utter inadequacy. I've been given a lot of big breaks and opportunities that some can only ever dream about, and for that I am grateful; but it's the mundane things that seem to be ever so slightly out of my reach, and I'm left with more questions than answers as to why.

The Night of the Fluffy Rug

High school has always been, and always will be, to some degree, about finding the perfect niche. Tiring and most likely to leave you in shambles, the pressure of not having a group to call your own can be distressful, and lead you to believe that you simply do not belong. There truly is nothing like having a group you can fall back on, composed of people you trust, love, and feel comfortable with: a home base. No one's trying to be anything other than themselves, because no one's asking you to be. You are accepted for who you are, no matter how weird, outrageous, and flawed you may be. You simply are: vulnerable and unplugged, stripped down to the very core.

 

I'll be the first to admit that my priorities were in the wrong place over the past four years. I was always the girl with the broken heart. "By whom" was a question whose answer was ever changing. I was fooled into believing that that's where I would find my absolute happiness: in the arms of someone else...the boy of my dreams. But as the great Peyton Sawyer once said, "People always leave." Now, to some degree, there is validity to that statement. But what Ms. Sawyer failed to realize is that though person after person made their cameo appearance in her storybook of life, there were always a few constants who refused to walk away no matter how rough the times got, namely, Brooke Davis, and the ever so wonderful Lucas Scott.

 

As I delve deeper and deeper into the heart wrenching, emotionally traumatizing drama that is One Tree Hill, I can't help but envy the friendships that continue to deepen and thrive between the characters, all of which started in high school. Why don't I have that? I ask myself, as I wait for the next episode to play on Netflix on a Saturday night, alone in my dark room with only my laptop to keep my company, while the rest of the world is out with their friends, having fun. It's a question that has been gnawing at me throughout my senior year, and I can't seem to find the right answer. The best that I've come up with is this: I just didn't try hard enough.

 

Every time I had my heart broken by yet another boy who wasn't even worth my time in the first place, I retracted into a dark place where I bathed in my despair and solitude. Rather than trying to make the most out of life and reaching out to potential new friends, I wallowed in my self pity and fed off of the little sympathy others had to offer. I proudly wore my despondency like a badge to the point where there was probably a cloud of gloom hovering over my head, following me wherever I went. I analyzed every last detail of what went wrong with the guy of the hour, creating deluded theories in my head and living in the imaginary constructs of my mind, when I could've been enjoying myself with people who made me happy.

 

This, in all of its tortured truth, is why last night was a night I will remember for the rest of my life, despite its innocence and uneventfulness. In fact, it is because the night was so innocent and uneventful that it stands out, and will always be one of those dog-eared pages in my mental high school memory book. In the basement of a friend, I sat with some of the nicest people in my grade. Most of them are friends of mine with varying degrees of closeness, while they, in their entirety, form a close-knit group. Naturally, I felt a little out of place. They all had their inside jokes, adventures, and unique bonds that I could not adopt simply by being there. I had no idea if I was overstepping my boundaries, but I was grateful enough to be so unquestionably invited and welcomed into a home.

As the night went on, I grew more comfortable and realized that I was far from being an intruder. I guess the habit of automatically assuming that you are disliked just comes with going generally unknown at school, and being used to melting into the background. But last night, I sang, I danced, I laughed, and enjoyed the company that was able to provide me with such pure bliss. There were times where I wished to remove myself from the moment, just so I could capture the pure essence of its perfection without being a part of it.

The moment so particularly engraved into my mind came towards the end of the night. The lights were turned off for a collective nap and with the flick of a switch, bodies were entangled, breathing was synchronized, and a wave of peacefulness washed over the room. I chose to lay on the floor on the fluffy rug and watched as a sweet and innocent intimacy unfolded before me. With every shallow breath radiated a stroke of trust, a stroke of love, and a stroke of comfort. I smiled as the acoustic guitar continued to play in the background and thought to myself, So this is what it must feel like. To have a home base. To have a niche. To feel grounded. Accepted. Appreciated. Loved.

So it turns out that I've been looking for all of these things in the wrong places. Maybe it's too late; maybe I really did screw it up for myself. Rather than counting down the days until I can leave this one horse town and the people I have made loose camaraderie with, I will cherish the days I have left in the hopes of forming bonds that stand the test of time and distance. I can only wish to find what my peers have found as I embark on a journey and start a new chapter in my life, in the midst of all the parties (and overall impurity) that college has to offer, and feel the sense of belonging and contentment I have been craving for for as long as I can remember.