I don’t remember too many specifics from high school, but I vividly remember that my high school graduation ceremony was brimming with cliches and quotes.Â
Amongst these was of course Dr. Suess’s “Oh, the Places You’ll go!” At the time, that was all I thought about- the endless possibilities of the places I could go.Â
I had committed to St. Bonaventure University, just under two hours away from my hometown. Though it wasn’t in another state or region of the country, it felt like I’d be making an expedition to a foreign land. A place where I would blossom into an adult, make lasting friendships, and create memories I would have for a lifetime.Â
After three years of living and learning on this campus, I can confirm all of those milestones have unfolded.Â
And yet, my toxic trait is that I spend more time than I’d like to admit thinking about the next place I’ll go to. I put nearly the first two decades of my life into this exact place where I am now. Why am I so focused on the next?Â
I have a complicated relationship with the future, as most people do. It’s almost like my quarter-life crisis is slowly creeping up on me. On one hand, I know I am doing myself a disservice by spending so much time thinking about what will occur in the coming years. But on the other hand, it can be fun and harmless to picture future Katie- what she’s doing, where she’s living, what adventures she’s embarking on.Â
I have so many alternate realities.Â
I remember crying to a good friend of mine recently, with happy, cathartic tears in my eyes. I told him I was both deeply afraid of and deeply in love with the idea of the future. I explained to him how I pictured our friend group reuniting post-grad. We’d all meet at my house for game nights. We’d light candles and drink wine. We’d laugh about our college days. I was so overcome by emotion that this made me sob. It could have been my PMS or the fact that I feel more deeply than the average person, but either way, I was a mess.Â
His demeanor was of genuine bewilderment. “Katie, why are you even worrying about that? How are you thinking that far ahead?”Â
Time isn’t moving any slower these days. I have already roamed this planet for two (amazing) decades. Gray hairs are slowly revealing themselves on my scalp. I have scars to show and stories to tell.Â
This time of my life, the collegiate experience, is focused on the future. What jobs can I secure? Will I make enough money? Who will I marry? Will I get to be a mom one day?Â
I shamelessly daydream in class about these questions. I picture my options laid out like diverging points on a map. I could stay in Buffalo and be close to my loving family my entire life. I could start fresh and move elsewhere, perhaps to cities that captivate me like Charleston or Nashville.Â
I do not know how my future will unfold, or where I will end up. I could choose to let this thought consume me each and every day for the rest of my life. If I let it, this thought alone could spark endless anxiety and fuel crippling fear. Or, I could elect to embrace the unknown. How exciting it is that I have not yet experienced all of the people, places and things I will love. How wonderful that at this point in time, I still have choices to make and things to learn.Â
Aging is not easy. Trying to grasp the unknown is also not easy. But when I wake up each morning, I have the autonomy to decide how I want to let these ideas sit with me. I see immense power and beauty in that.Â