mere

I grew up in what I would consider a traditional upper-middle class family (my dad worked while my mom stayed home to take care of my brother and me) in a typical Midwestern suburb populated primarily by other white people, with some African-Americans, some Hispanics and just a smattering of other ethnicities. While variety and opportunities weren't exactly sparse, there was not nearly as much readily available to me then as there is now, living in the Bay Area. My parents are both well-educated, well-meaning people who, in raising me, passively imparted on me their beliefs and expectations as well as their characteristic anxious reticence and habits for dealing with the world. My disposition lends me to being reserved, shy and diffident yet amiable, accommodating and trusting; it always has and, I suspect, it always will. But these days I have found within me the power to make my own choices about how I utilize those traits. To be brutally honest, I've learned to actually think for myself.

If you had asked me eight years ago, when I was sixteen, about what I liked and what I wanted in life, I probably would have had a lot of answers for you. As a teenager, I was a straight arrow, an A student with pretty big goals; yet, my knowledge was limited and my motivation to learn about the world was swayed by my tractability. My self-conscious nature drove me to constant comparisons between myself and others and to worries that if anyone were wrong, it was me. My deep-seated need to satisfy everyone else and my willingness to trust that they would know what's best ultimately resulted in my embarrassingly sheep-like behavior. I liked whatever my friends liked, did whatever they did, and if they weren't interested, then it wasn't worth my time. Where I didn't have the lifeline of my friends' opinions, I often simply didn't bother to make decisions. So, I liked punk rock music and cheesy horror flicks, attending deafeningly loud concerts in smoke-filled coffee shops, going to church every Sunday, writing poetry and trying to play the guitar. I didn't care to educate myself about other cultures or politics. I wanted to join the Flag Corps, to apply to Miami University and to abstain from sex until I got married. While some of these things were relatively inconsequential, others were not; important personal decisions were made based on the choices I thought my friends were making.

Of course, my docile nature attracted "friends" who craved control and were willing to take advantage of my naivete. The truth behind my relationships began slowly to dawn on me when I was nineteen. I realized I needed a change so, with no shortage of turmoil, l let go of my closest friends. Out of the few friends left standing after this extirpation, not one stepped up to fill the gap that was left. I was lost. What followed was a period of serious self-doubt, uncertainty and depression: in short, an identity crisis. At that time in my life, I couldn't actually count on enjoying the things I had before and I truly had no idea what my real opinions were. So started my painstaking and exhilarating process of self discovery.

I know a lot less about myself now than I thought I knew back then. I've come a long way in the past five years and I doubt that the people who were a part of my teenage life would even recognize me. Today, I am becoming my own person: a continually revised amalgam of my recent discoveries and insights with my immutable character traits, the parts of my past that I treasure and a rejection of those aspects I don't. It's not really what I did choose back then that bothers me so much as the ignorance and lost opportunities implicit in my unwillingness to explore the possibilities before me. Of course, some things are no different. I'm not going to pretend that I suddenly became impervious to the opinions of others or that I am magically confident and self-assured. However, I like to think that I am now able to evaluate ideas in relation to my own priorities and desires. It's still difficult for me to make decisions on my own, particularly when I know it will affect other people, but the difference is that I'm now willing to accept the challenge.

I've derived a great deal of satisfaction out of expanding my boundaries beyond what my teenage mind could have ever imagined and, given that I have so much more to learn, I look forward to continuing this growth process forever. Change is a constant, inevitable and exciting part of life. Sure, it can be scary, but I've decided to embrace it: tattooed on my feet are the words "If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies".