journal entry — Thursday, January 18th 2024
I have a few things I’d like to discuss this evening — I’ll list them out now so I don’t forget, if that’s okay.
–> Who am I, in general? What WAS I made for?
–> Is everything really defined by little choices? Thanks French
–> Should I be mature or sad? When I do anything, who is it for? I’d say it’s for me, but (as much as I know I’m always looking out for ME) I don’t think I have any motives…?
Alright. I may think of something else along the way, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.
–> I’m a grown up. I’m a big girl. Am I? I used a tampon.
I’ll start with what’s somehow the least sensitive subject on my little list: who am I?
Today we had our first ‘junior groups’ meeting with Ms. N—- and the junior grade-level counselors. I got to do some thinking and
–> Is encouragement really the best way to raise a child? What about a friend?
I came to the conclusion that I don’t know how to describe myself. That’s something I’m sure I’ve known for a while, but recently, my usual ‘what I am’ labels haven’t helped me feel sure about it at all. You know, how I’d say, “I don’t know who I am but I know I’m a girl with good grades. She runs. She reminds me of Rory Gilmore. But she’s got brown eyes, of course.” I think I’m having trouble seeing myself in the third person. Which does seem like a good thing, now that I’m thinking about it. I must really be living this life if I completely see it through myself, as a person, as an active participant instead of a bystander.
–> Never settle.
Anyways, I’ll try to describe myself like the recommendation requires: with 3 adjectives (but go deeper than caring, determined, that basic bullshit). But I can’t think of any single word that describes me without being balanced by its antonym. I thought I was onto something with serious, but then I remembered that my 2023 was literally defined by silly. Nothing’s allowed to be taken at face value, except when it is; the more convoluted and irreverent, the better — except when it’s not. I’m particular, I’m oh, so particular. Except that I’m not detail-oriented. I think in concepts (scratch that). Everything is inexplicably yet perfectly vague, obviously. So, where does that leave me? I care. That’s the only thing I can think of. I love. But mostly I care. About everything. More than anyone I know, probably. But doesn’t everyone feel that way? We just care about different things.
–> My two most mirror books were Twilight and Lolita?
–> It’s Bella’s first day.
–> I don’t want advice from my future self. The whole entire goddamn point of living is figuring it out.
–> Seeing someone as an equal is really quite special. Even a peer. But could an adult really ever see me as a full person? How about one who works in admissions?
So I care.
–> Dim the lights and fall into you you you ooh ooh
Okay, I’m back and I’m better than ever. So, A—-
[a page of related trivial happenings]
My heart wants so badly to get some really good news from that. I want a best-case scenario, which is ridiculous considering I know I left that possibility behind in approximately October. But my brain is so hard-wired to hope that I can’t tell the difference between NOT catastrophizing and being straight delusional. Do with that what you will, but anyways, the whole point of that is to provide the paradigm which presented itself in my mind at approximately 4:55 pm! I can be mature, or I can be sad.
–> Rewiring my brain pathways not to reminisce, not to scroll TikTok drafts, not to good old days of Rome my life
So I’ve been thinking, going back and forth, on that issue ever since. You see, being sad can be exceedingly fun sometimes, and it’s hard to let go of that. But it’s 2024. I am growing up. I’ll be turning 17. I’ll be driving. I’ll be a senior in high school. I’ll have responsibilities, real ones. I have to get into college. I have to apply to college. I have to know who I am. I have to like that person. And that’s really not possible, except to a superficial degree, unless I start treating myself like a successful person. The only way to like myself is to keep getting better. The only way to get better is to expect not to love every second of my life. That’s nothing but the truth.
–> January, a favorite, is kind of almost over.
So yes, I will be straightforward, and on time, and kind, and smart. But I need to expect more. Expect better. That may seem contrary to my previous statement, but it’s not.
–> Horizons horizons horizons oh me oh my
In the coming year, I plan to reinvent myself no less than 3 times. JK…Unless…
I will expect more for myself and above all else I will expect that it will take effort. I will spend as little time as I can not knowing, or figuring out, or being confused. I will keep track of things, I will keep good good relationships + friendships with everyone around me — or I will be cordially uninvolved. I will expect a good life and not complain that I don’t have it if I don’t work for it. I will prove it. I will prove that I deserve every opportunity that’s been graciously bestowed upon me. Because gratitude is what I’ve felt the strongest, but faith without deeds is dead.
Yes, I can do everything that I want to, because why not? I can get straight As again, surprise myself with PRs, have good skin and hair, sleep enough, keep ED out, manage anxiety so well, and have THE MOST FUN. Because why the fuck not? If I can’t, with everything I’ve been given, then who the hell can?
And so I’ve touched on almost every subject I came here with.
About 4 hours have elapsed since Genesis (including when I ate lasagna + watched Pride & Prejudice + discussed Catholic Theology). I’ll provide a few last thoughts. Please do forgive their disjointed nature, I have not at present time to eloquently connect them or delve particularly in any direction…
–> Every time I make a “final decision” and then don’t stick to it, my resolve gets weaker and my word means less.
–> How would N—- know? [paragraph of the worries du jour] Food for thought. JK. I won’t think about it anymore.
–> How much DOES each little thing I do subliminally decide everything in the whole wide world? I can’t tell which side of the argument I want to take. Pro, with limitations? Con, with exceptions?
–> Every time I ignore a friend annoyance and just encourage them in their endeavors, what does it do? Build their trust in me? Or wear down my patience with them?
–> Is my mom happy?
–> Who is it for? Future Emma. Of course — how could I forget?
–> The world is just lovely enough to pardon my autumntime Spotify dare
–> M—- will be honest with me. I fear it will be embarrassing. But I know I will be better off. Knowing is always better (not true).
Have a lovely night!
Emma
The Dilemma Of It All 