An assignment I was given for my professional writing class has sent me into a mini identity crisis.
We were tasked with creating four different “bios” of ourselves where we describe ourselves differently based on the medium we are using it for. While writing out these bios, I found that the things I usually list as my hobbies (reading, crocheting, hiking) may not be as accurate as they once were and it made me feel like a fraud for using them to describe me still.
The combination of school work, the dry cold, my 8:30 a.m. class, and the errands I am constantly running seem to be sucking my usual motivation to participate in my hobbies out of me.
I have more unread, or half finished books littering my room than ever before, my bag of yarn has gone untouched for months now, and I try to spend as little time outside as possible.
In short, my so called “hobbies” are looking a little more than just neglected, it’s as if I don’t like doing them at all. So, why do I keep using them to describe me? Is it a hope that I will get over this slump of sluggish behavior? Or is it a coping mechanism to avoid the fact that I am becoming the person I never wanted to be: someone who says that “watching TV” is their only interest. (sorry to those people, please just get another hobby)
I know that I still enjoy these things, because I always want to do them, I just seem to never be in the mood for anything other than mindless social media scrolling when I have some free time to myself.
This internal conflict of mine is only the tip of the iceberg of the spirals that the college experience sends me, and I’m sure many others, on.
Every week I question what I’m doing. I have people telling me that what I’m studying is great and will open so many interesting pathways for my career. Then another moment someone asks me what I plan on doing with my degree and I blank and start to question everything again.
In truth, the period of my life that I am now in is one of immense change as a new college student, and not just in environment, I am now learning.
College will change you as a person, and I am heavily feeling the effects. Do I call myself a writer now? Am I “music enthusiast” because I host a radio show? Do I really enjoy reading if I can barely get through the assigned chapters I have to read for my American Literature class? Where the concrete answers to how I viewed myself used to be is now a bunch of question marks.
How I learn to cope with the fact that I’m no longer the same Jessica as pre-college Jessica is the real question now.
So to stop feeling like a fraud, I need to come to terms with one thing: change is one of the few constant companions of life, and I might as well get comfortable with it.