You know those ridiculous Buzzfeed quizzes that try to predict your age based on your taste in men (I’m apparently 16) or what scene from a T-Swift music video you are (screaming fight scene from “Blank Space”)? They promise to tell you more about yourself than you could ever learn on our own, but they always seem to find a way of leaving you a little dissatisfied. (But I swear, I’d be a PANCAKE if I was a breakfast food, not a WAFFLE.)
Well, due to my constant procrastination and my resorting to these quizzes as the perfect method, I’ve begun to think of my life in terms of Buzzfeed quizzes. I’m always trying to identify if my aura is more purple than it is pink or if I’d be a golden retriever or a lab if I was a dog. But, thanks to my experience with the quizzes and my familiarity with their bizarre, symbolic metaphors, I’ve gotten pretty good at it. And, if I had to define my sophomore year as a letter, I’d have to say it’d be a J. You know, like this:
J
Hear me out. I started sophomore year at what I thought was a great place on the little point at the beginning of the J. I had just dumped my high school boyfriend and was ready to set my sights on a new prospect. I wanted to find some close girl friends. I was ready to explore the final club scene (wait, so like, the Fly is a PLACE and not an outdated compliment of the club? Ohhhh.) and to actually attend a party or two. And I wanted to really figure out who I was.
And boy, did I get more than what I bargained for.
My search for that perfect boyfriend has yet to be fruitful even as I put my heart on the line time after time. I’ve experienced my fair share of romantic fiascos over the last school year (8 to be exact, but I mean, who’s even counting?). However, these heartbreaks and heartaches have had a few unexpected positives. For instance, my intuitive senses when it comes to a break-up or a gentle separation are unparalleled. I can pick up on the most minute of signals to predict the pitfall of any relationship or hookup. (“Oh, he blinked twice as soon as you walked into the PSK?” I tsk to my concerned friend. “Yeah, he should be ending things with you by 8 PM on Tuesday night.”) I’ve also started to realize what I need from a guy in a relationship and what I expect of him and myself. For instance, if you’re too immature to pass me on a stairwell after you end things with me and you take the elevator to avoid me, then I probably never should have dated you in the first place. (You guys, I couldn’t make this sh*t up if I tried.) And I know that if I’ve gone through these many duds, at some point, I’ll find a guy who makes me forget all the crap I went through to get to him (including, hopefully, the boyfriend who broke up with me because I didn’t support his dream of becoming an MLB player—I’m tellin’ ya, my life is a soap opera). But for the time being, I’m absolutely unconcerned. Because I absolutely accomplished finding those amazing girl friends I so desperately wanted.
I was pretty lonely entering freshman year. But thank God for the women in my entryway and the beautiful ladies of punch season that make me laugh, make me think, and make me love life. I think what’s so exciting (and a little scary!) about the friends that I’ve made this year is that I can picture them so perfectly in my future. When Adrienne patiently gives me advice on dress after dress a week before the PSK Date Event, visions flash in my mind of her sitting in the dressing room of some future bridal shop with the rest of my bridesmaids. As Ellie and I exchange comments about the state of women in the world and the amazing movement that is feminism, I can picture her helping me put together a speech or proposal for my future career (which is still TBD). And when Pauline cradled me in her arms as I cried after Romantic Fiasco 2, I could just imagine her comforting my first kid in the delivery room. The ladies I meet today are the friends, godmothers, confidantes, and bridesmaids of tomorrow. And I could not be more grateful.
The parties and the final clubs that I barely stepped foot in last year became my places late at night (and sometimes much too late into the morning) on Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays… They were about the death of me. If I wasn’t on the list for the Fly, I felt a very personal and very devastating rejection. I’d spend a half hour waiting for the back door of the Spee or the Owl or the PSK to be opened so I could sneak into a party I wasn’t even really wanted at—just so that I could take a few Snapchats and prove I was finally ~cool~. I think I’ve finally wrapped my mind around the idea that missing out on one party or one invite or one insanely awesome three-second disappearing picture isn’t actually the end of the ENTIRE WORLD. But it took a long time to get that through my head.
I went through a lot of shit and self-loathing and questionable decisions this year. I starved myself and exercised far past my limit to look that much better and be that much more desirable to Romantic Fiascos 2, 5, and 6, because maybe if I was a tiny bit skinner and a little more toned, they’d actually want me. I cried on the floor of the bathroom in John Harvard’s Brewery to the absolute horror of multiple waiters and diners (that was one of my lower moments). I’ve texted boys I shouldn’t have saying things I shouldn’t have; I’ve lied about feelings I do and don’t have when I should have just been honest; and I’ve beat myself up over minuscule events I should have shrugged off. I’ve absolutely been at the bottom of that tiny little J curve.
But I get it now. I had to feel lonely. I had to feel broken. I had to feel lost, confused, and identity-less to get to my peak. Because now I’m happier, more joyful, and more content than I’ve ever been. I know who I am to the point that I could define myself in 10 words, 5 words, 3, or 1. I am solidifying who I am, and I’m excited about the path I’m on. I am fulfilled, I am smiling, I am content. I am free of (most) insecurities, doubts, and fear, because I know that no matter what, I have my family, my friends, and myself to get me through any obstacles on the way. I’m on the upswing of that J, and I could not be happier about it.
My sophomore year was a J. Now let’s see which 90’s reality show my future house is most like.