Losing Weight--Reagan

 

The weight of my actions. The weight of their expectations. The weight of the world.

At eighteen, we are not old enough to legally drink alcohol but we are old enough to

choose our nation’s leader. That idea is funny to me. It is also funny to me that by the age of

eighteen I should know exactly what I want to do with my life. Scratch that—not eighteen. It is

probably more like age fourteen because that is the earliest I can start racking up activities and

awards to put on all my college applications. Coincidentally, fourteen is also when people start

asking me who the cute boys at school are. Fifteen is when they start asking me if I have started

learning how to drive. Sixteen is when they start asking me if I have thought about college yet.

Seventeen is when they start asking me what college I am going to. When will they start asking

me if all this weight is too much to bear?

The only way I can think to describe this weight is chaotic. It makes me feel as if I am

not good enough. This weight is constantly hovering over me dictating my decisions. I am

constantly asking myself, “What should I have done better?” My rational thoughts try to ease the

weight to provide some relief. What I get instead is a spiral of unforgiving doubt. I go from

questioning minor mistakes to believing that I am not good enough for anyone or anything.

Reading back what I have just said, it seems almost irrational. I almost feel like I should not even

be complaining. Until I remember that I am just seventeen years old. I am still a kid in the eyes

of the law yet their perspective will change in just one day.

As the amount of time shrinks between now and college, the weight grows. It grows

heavier and more consuming. I would not say I am afraid of college or leaving home. I would

say I am nervous that nothing will ever be the same again. I may never get to share a home with

my sisters again. Annoying as it is, them stealing my t-shirts is a welcome reminder that they are

always there. My parents might live hours away from me. That distance means I will need a

couple gallons or so of gas to be able to get a hug from my mom when I have had a bad day.

Well, now that I think about it, it will also depend on if my schedule permits it. Possibly, I will

never again get to see that table group from first period junior year that made me laugh

uncontrollably. The fact that I am leaving all of this behind makes me homesick before I have

even left home.

The weight I am describing sort of feels like a back pack. It is unseemingly heavy and

annoying but I need it. I need it because without it I would not be prepared for the school day

ahead. I would walk out the door and into the day with no knowledge of what to expect. Except

it is not a backpack, it is life experiences and it is not a school day, it is my future. So I guess that

means that the weight is actually a good thing for me. Even though sometimes it feels like it is

pulling me down and pushing me over, it keeps me steady in times of great confusion.

Without my life experiences, I would not have become my own person. Had I not

experienced loss at a young age, I may have not had such value for the little things in life. My

experience with my little siblings is important to my maturity. The relationship I have with my

parents has taught me to always be respectful and to know when to stand my ground. Ultimately,

I have learned to be thankful for this weight because if I lost it, I would have nothing.

The weight of my actions reminds me to think with my head but to follow my heart. The

weight of their expectations gives me self confidence and sets my personal standards for what I

deserve. The weight of the world excites me for all of the life that I will get to experience. Even

though it often feels like too much pressure, it is just the right amount to prepare me for the

future and everything that comes with it.