“Why?” The question is asked more than a million times a day. It is the most asked question in the world. I asked myself this question the other day in AP English. We were having a seminar and we were asked “How do you keep going? How do you pick yourself up everyday and keep going?” I started thinking about it. Why do I do what I do? I wake up in the morning, grumble about how early it is, and then I work all day at school while complaining about how much I do not want to be there. I finish the day by going to bed exhausted after crying over how much homework I seem to have. What is the point? Why do I continue to live in a way I obviously do not enjoy? I seem to have a million questions (ironically about myself), but they never seem to be answered.
People tell me to find meaning in the little things, but how can I? It seems that even if I work hard, there is always more to do. How do I find meaning in that? I have found myself becoming tired, jaded and sarcastic toward my life. I am already accepted into college, so what is the point? Not just with school, but with everything? I constantly dream of being one of those people who constantly seem to be able to shirk off responsibility and pursue only what they desire. But then I think: is that what I really want, to just have mindless fun? Is there meaning in that? I find myself asking even more questions.
The most amazing thing about the AP English seminar was not the ridiculous amount of questions I had, but that everyone else in my class seemed to be voicing the very same thoughts. Everyone else seemed just as confused and scared. The future seems pretty big when you are just a senior in high school. My world is Athens at the moment, but in a few months it will be a university with 30,000 students. Then my life will become my entire world depending on my profession (whatever that my be). It is hard not to project out further into the future. This sounds cliché, but I was surprised at how relieved I felt after hearing everyone else voice their concerns. Then I thought, “Why don’t we talk about this stuff more?” I feel that if people would just break open, take that chance and expose themselves to another, we would be happier.
If we can relate to each other because we all have similar feelings; why do we not share them? I am not talking about a Dr. Phil spill-your-guts episode, but just a conversation that goes beneath the surface of the standard conversation. If I had the courage to speak up and tell someone about how scared I was, I might have found some comfort instead of stress after all these years. Don’t get me wrong, I am still a little anxious, but not as much. Just knowing that everyone else is as tired as I am is a small comfort.
What is the point of these ramblings? Half of me has no idea. Many times I just find myself writing out nonsense. However, my other half seems to understand exactly the words my hands are typing. Through a simple English seminar I have found some sort of peace, and I owe it all to my classmates who consistently remind me that I am not completely alone. We need to use these universal feelings of doubt, worry and exhaustion to connect to our peers. It sounds dumb, but I encourage you all to take that extra step and maybe bring up something to a friend that you are bothered about. You have no idea who could be affected by your words.