Over the past day or so, I have been reading over one of my journals. It begins in the February of last year and covers up until this summer, so it has a pretty good span of time under its belt. Reading it has been a very interesting experience. And yes, interesting really is the best word for it.
At the time I was going through applying to graduate school and pining after a boy, all while trying to keep my head above water in school. I think one of the things that has amazed me most is the enthusiasm I displayed in my writing then. Everything was about how I hoped I would be wanted in return (by both boy and grad programs) and just how lucky I was to be at that point in my life. I constantly mentioned my Heavenly Father's goodness and trusting His will to be the right course... Looking back, I was so happy and so excited about just about everything.
That person from a year and a half ago is still a part of me. She is quieter in the face of grad school--it is a bit harder to be enthused and happy when you feel like you're constantly running down hill in pursuit of a wheel of cheese. But, I had forgotten about her. It was easy to ignore that part of, to just wallow in the difficulties I have faced since that journal began. Because, really, it takes work to have faith and to find things to be happy about. The world is more conducive to negativity than optimism, and it probably will be until the second coming.
The person I have been lately is humbler than the shiny-eyed SUU graduate, but also a good deal darker. The me of now finds it only too easy to suppose that I will not be accepted into a phd program, and that I will wind up in some awful, dead-end place that will drive me insane. My angst has weighted down my soul to the point that I am even struggling to write creatively. It has been years since I have felt so confined and utterly overwhelmed. The funny thing? It's not even the stress that is making me feel this way. Oh, the work of doing a thesis, teaching, going to grad school, and preparing for a conference is great; don't mistake me there. But, I know it's just ... me. I am screwing myself over, and I hate it. I've even been considering going to therapy or getting medicated for my depression. Maybe then I would feel like I had a fighting chance.
Comparing these two elements of who I have been and who I am has lead me to consider who I want to be. I don't think I can go back to the fluttery senior, but I certainly don't want to remain as I am now (because, really, that'd just suck). The future-me will hopefully still have the humility of now, but perhaps with more of the vigor of the past me. If nothing else, I want to be able to believe in myself, utterly and entirely. Slowly but surely I am becoming a more refined, better version of me; transitioning from one stage to the other, though, is a wench. But, I know I will get there. I will be someone you are proud to know. Eventually.
