An Introspective 16-Year Old, Was I

Despite the content of the last few posts, I guarantee you this is not a tech blog. That said, I've been looking over my old blog again (pardon the disrepair—banner ads tend to creep in like cobwebs), and so it's Blast From the Past Day. The following is from May 17, 2005:

I look at other people's lives--or what other people say about their own lives--and they're all so much more complicated than mine. It seems that everybody has more problems than I do. On the same token, however, they have more things to be happy about. Other people's lives are more interesting. If someone wrote a biography about me I'd probably rather read one with more drama, because there'd be none in mine; it seems that in the distribution of drama some people got it all and people like me didn't.

I feel like the reason is that I never really got into the things I do. I'm kind of passive; everything just kind of goes by for me. All around me I see people who are driven hard with farsighted goals while I kind of coast along (somewhat) halfheartedly. It's apparent in the things I do. In track or cross country, I just manage to get by while others constantly push themselves to break records or win competitions. In orchestra, I've been playing for almost 9 years now, but I never really got into it. I see people who live for music and would die for music. I'm constantly alongside people who are more involved than I am.

I never attached myself to any expectations. That's the thing. The second you form strong expectations for something you're setting yourself up to be disappointed. Maybe things will go the way you want them to, but if they don't, you'll feel much worse for it. Failure is easier when you just don't care all that much. So I look around and see the troubled members of my generation, emotionally unstable, lacking motivation, psychologically scattered; they had a dream of what was to happen, and they wanted that dream, they wanted it badly, so badly that when it never came true and became impossible they broke down to pieces.

Having a dream is always a good thing, though--the problem arises with overly strong desire to reach it. Having no dreams can be a problem in itself. This is where I come in. If I stop typing right now and think if I have any clear, strong dreams for my longer-term future, I come up with nothing. Of course, I would like to be successful in one way or another, but that kind of goal is too nebulous. I don't have plans. This is a problem. The question arises all the time, especially in this stage of life: "What do you want to do (with your life)?" "Do you want to be a ________?" "What major will you pursue in college?" My answer is truthfully: I don't know. There's a problem with (this may be a violation of modesty) being good at and enjoying a number of things in life: then the path of life is less clear. If I went into science or math (which I probably will do anyway), I'll feel like I'm wasting my literary, music, or art skills. The other way around too.

I'd like to say that 4 years, 3 months, and so many life experiences later, this all has changed—but it hasn't. For some reason or another I'm continuing to coast through what is arguably the most decisive time in my life. Different people, different places, but I'm taking the same approach.

What I'm not sure of is how exactly I felt about that passivity at the time I described it. I can't remember if I thought it was preferable—the post reads more like a detailed observation than anything. Maybe I have changed, because today I won't hesitate to say that the dramatic life is better, low points and all. I'm working on it. I just need to counter my own nature to make it happen.