Last Sunday morning I was vacationing at my father's house, half a country away from my own home. I was sat in a comfortable deck chair enjoying the morning sun before its midday metamorphosis turned the whole operation into an oppressive, carcinogenic oven. My father and his wife were at church, and for the moment, I was alone.
An important note about me: I'm a bit of a muller. At any given moment, especially if I'm not actually speaking or listening to someone, it's very likely that I'm lost in my own thoughts. For a week or two before my trip, I'd been turning the idea of safe places around in my brain. When I say "safe places" it's important to note that I do not mean "Safe Spaces." I recognize the importance of the double capital S entities that have become so maligned by the righteously un-PC among us, but what I was thinking about was even more personal. My visit to my childhood home brought the idea into sharp focus.
My father's home is not my safe place. Though it was the only home I knew from birth to the age of majority, it never was, at least not at any point I can remember. I can remember fear. I can remember fighting. I remember guilt, shame, hurt, loneliness, and occasional joy. I remember hiding. Mostly though, I remember my bedroom.
If there was a safe place of any kind in that house, it was my bedroom. When I was 12 or 13, I got a TV/VCR for my room at Christmas. At 15, I bought myself a DVD player and amassed an impressive collection. I had a job in high school and distinctly recall pricing mini fridges and microwaves. I don't remember ever thinking it explicitly, but in retrospect, the clear goal was to never have to leave my bedroom again; at least until I could leave it for good.
In the home stretch of my childhood, something miraculous happened...I found a place. I was 17, angry as hell and also terrified. I had a car and a job, so I'd gone from never leaving my room to never coming home. Sure, I was on a tight leash with a strict curfew, but I was also an overachiever. As such, I had school clubs, athletic practices and various competitions to keep me busy along with regular school hours, work and church (we did a LOT of church). I discovered that if I played it right and didn't really care about gas prices, I could manage to be away for vast portions of most days.
I'd drive two towns over to get a milkshake or kick the soccer ball around on an empty field. I'd find a back road and drive fast (too fast) and hope I didn't get caught. Broken land speed records aside, my car was almost safe. It was fun to feel so independent, and to this day a solitary drive is almost always soothing to me, but it wasn't quite it. I needed a person.
Then I found them.
As an overachiever, I was frequently at school after hours, talking to teachers and advisors. My senior year, I was partly in charge of an academic club with a brand new faculty advisor. Before the year even started, I'd introduced myself and offered my services, such a gentleman/woman/person. This was a fairly involved club, so we'd often have lunch and after school meetings. Being (sort of) in charge meant even more responsibility for me, so I skipped band practice when I could to attend even more meetings and practices. Then I just started hanging out with this teacher damn near every day after school.
I'm trying to remember how it happened...why my teenaged brain could have possibly thought this was a good idea...but eventually I started visiting my faculty member at home. Evenings not spent at work or on school projects started to become TV watching events with my...friend?...person. I'd stay until late evening then go home to my room to start my homework. I never slept much in my own home, so I eventually started falling asleep on their couch during reruns of Friends or particularly boring movies. At the time, I remember being vaguely embarrassed and getting teased for it, but now all I can think of is how safe I must have felt, falling asleep in someone else's home, and how kind it was of them to just let me be, even for a little while.
Sometimes I'd bring food from my restaurant job or swing through a drive thru for ice cream for the both of us. It may not seem like it, but it was a starkly unromantic gesture; I think I was just enjoying caring for someone else and being able to give something to someone who was, again in retrospect, caring so much for me.
We kept in touch when I went to college. Over the next few years we racked up hours, probably days of night and weekend minutes. I grew up in fits and starts and began to stop hiding. I became who I am and, for the most part, they bore witness to it. Then we stopped talking. For years.
Last year, on a crisp fall evening, I sat on my porch with a massively alcoholic drink in my hand and used my two weapons of choice, drunkenness and the internet, to track them down. With impulsivity in the driver's seat, I called a phone number I wasn't even sure was correct and left a voicemail that was likely incomprehensible. And they called back. And we talked. Well, I talked, they listened. Over the next few months, we kept talking.
Late Sunday afternoon, I got to do the goddamned impossible; I got to go home again. I was terrified, but it was amazing. Like my father's house, the furniture was mostly different. I didn't fall asleep on the new couch and I wasn't the one who procured the pizza, but there was TV and joking and it felt almost the same.
Although our relationship has changed for the better, my father's house is not my safe place. It's a friendly place, a nice place, but it's still not home to me.
I'm not going to send you here, to this blog post, safe place person of mine, because just writing this weird non-romantic love letter about you would probably creep you out enough. Thank you. For letting me exist with you and teaching me what home feels like, thank you. I'm not sure that I'll ever know exactly what that meant in the context of your life, but for me, it's meant everything.
Monday, June 20, 2016
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Future Starts Slow
About two months ago, I received surprising but not unwelcome news that the graduate institution I'd been flirting with had somehow managed to put together a full funding package for me, pending my admission. Then in the time it usually takes me to research and settle on a new shampoo, I put together an application replete with glowing faculty recommendations, an APA-cited paper (thank you Dr. W), all the usual demographic information and a very personal statement.
Then I waited.
Sure, patience is a virtue, but thankfully just one of many, since I definitely don't have it. So while I waited, I passed the time by bothering everyone I knew incessantly. My dad, my partner, the PhD student who peer pressured me into starting this quest, my supervisor at work, my friend from back in Illinois, my dogs...everyone.
Once everyone told me (with varying degrees of tact) to quit it, I waited more quietly, pinging panicked thoughts around my own head instead.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably a couple of weeks, I finally found out that I got in. I was going to become a PhD student. Holy shit.
Since then, things have moved in fast and slow motion. I filled out more paperwork and ended my job at my alma mater. I finished the year in the public school district and spent an inordinate amount of time researching housing options in my future city. I told my other employers that my plans involved leaving them and their kids, and my university students that I wouldn't be back in the fall. I broke my own heart a little.
It's an interesting thing though; I've lived in this town for two years, and I've only felt at all at home in the last six months or so. Even though I'm usually a hermit, I've actually managed to make some friends. Just today I was actually invited to a social event. After a year and a half of not belonging, I've found some people to call my own, and in two months, I'll be gone.
Is this always how it goes? Do we only ever get a little bit of time, just moments really, where things really click? Does the clicking happen so slowly that we don't even notice it until it's about to pass? If we do wait it out, does it continue, or does the good stuff move on without us, just...leaving us stopped right where we stand?
It's hard not to be sad. It's hard not to be excited. The confluence is overwhelming, but I'm going to go. I need to go.
Then I waited.
Sure, patience is a virtue, but thankfully just one of many, since I definitely don't have it. So while I waited, I passed the time by bothering everyone I knew incessantly. My dad, my partner, the PhD student who peer pressured me into starting this quest, my supervisor at work, my friend from back in Illinois, my dogs...everyone.
Once everyone told me (with varying degrees of tact) to quit it, I waited more quietly, pinging panicked thoughts around my own head instead.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably a couple of weeks, I finally found out that I got in. I was going to become a PhD student. Holy shit.
Since then, things have moved in fast and slow motion. I filled out more paperwork and ended my job at my alma mater. I finished the year in the public school district and spent an inordinate amount of time researching housing options in my future city. I told my other employers that my plans involved leaving them and their kids, and my university students that I wouldn't be back in the fall. I broke my own heart a little.
It's an interesting thing though; I've lived in this town for two years, and I've only felt at all at home in the last six months or so. Even though I'm usually a hermit, I've actually managed to make some friends. Just today I was actually invited to a social event. After a year and a half of not belonging, I've found some people to call my own, and in two months, I'll be gone.
Is this always how it goes? Do we only ever get a little bit of time, just moments really, where things really click? Does the clicking happen so slowly that we don't even notice it until it's about to pass? If we do wait it out, does it continue, or does the good stuff move on without us, just...leaving us stopped right where we stand?
It's hard not to be sad. It's hard not to be excited. The confluence is overwhelming, but I'm going to go. I need to go.
Adventures in everything-ing
Collected interactions from hard days' work:
1) In the car
Kiddo: Ugh. They should walk faster. They walk way too slow.
Me: Well, they're pretty old. That might be as fast as they can go.
Kiddo: Why are they old?
Me: ...
2) On a bike
Different Kiddo: You're young, right?
Me: Sort of.
DK: How old are you?
Me: 31
DK: Oh, that's still pretty young. I thought you were a seventh grader because you're not very tall. Maybe as tall as the average sixth grader. Maybe when you're 32, you'll be as tall as an eighth grader.
3) Dating Advice
Same Kiddo: You need to find a husband.
Me: You think so?
SK: Yeah. I can help you.
Me: Oh Yeah?
SK: Find the handsomest guy you can, tell him he's handsome, ask him on a date, get married.
4) Roommates
My Undergrad Student: Ugh, my roommate is the worst! She got so drunk I had to go get her from a party, then she fell asleep in my bed!
Me: I was never good at having roommates, I don't miss it.
MUS: Are you one of those people who is really, really tidy?
Me: Nah, just a big weirdo.
5) History
Kiddo from #s 2-3: Tell me about when you were 14.
Me: Well, the internet was slower and we didn't have YouTube.
K: ...but TV had been invented, right?
6) Personal Care (no. 1)
Same Kiddo: Why's your face covered with pimples...or are they freckles?
Me:...
SK:...
Me:...They're both, thank you.
7) Personal Care (no. 2)
Me: Okay, we're going to ride bikes today, so let's get your helmet and hop on!
Different Kiddo: *Pees*
8) On Affection (no. 1)
Me: Hey dude, this is our last class of the year! Can I have a hug?
*Hugs*
Me: Have an awesome summer, okay?
Different Kiddo: Okay.
*Wraps both arms around the back of my neck and pulls*
DK: Give us a goodbye kiss!!!
9) On Affection (no. 2)
Kiddo from #7: *Licks my arm*
*Runs his fingers through my hair*
*Tugs gently on my earlobe*
*Purples my nerple*
1) In the car
Kiddo: Ugh. They should walk faster. They walk way too slow.
Me: Well, they're pretty old. That might be as fast as they can go.
Kiddo: Why are they old?
Me: ...
2) On a bike
Different Kiddo: You're young, right?
Me: Sort of.
DK: How old are you?
Me: 31
DK: Oh, that's still pretty young. I thought you were a seventh grader because you're not very tall. Maybe as tall as the average sixth grader. Maybe when you're 32, you'll be as tall as an eighth grader.
3) Dating Advice
Same Kiddo: You need to find a husband.
Me: You think so?
SK: Yeah. I can help you.
Me: Oh Yeah?
SK: Find the handsomest guy you can, tell him he's handsome, ask him on a date, get married.
4) Roommates
My Undergrad Student: Ugh, my roommate is the worst! She got so drunk I had to go get her from a party, then she fell asleep in my bed!
Me: I was never good at having roommates, I don't miss it.
MUS: Are you one of those people who is really, really tidy?
Me: Nah, just a big weirdo.
5) History
Kiddo from #s 2-3: Tell me about when you were 14.
Me: Well, the internet was slower and we didn't have YouTube.
K: ...but TV had been invented, right?
6) Personal Care (no. 1)
Same Kiddo: Why's your face covered with pimples...or are they freckles?
Me:...
SK:...
Me:...They're both, thank you.
7) Personal Care (no. 2)
Me: Okay, we're going to ride bikes today, so let's get your helmet and hop on!
Different Kiddo: *Pees*
8) On Affection (no. 1)
Me: Hey dude, this is our last class of the year! Can I have a hug?
*Hugs*
Me: Have an awesome summer, okay?
Different Kiddo: Okay.
*Wraps both arms around the back of my neck and pulls*
DK: Give us a goodbye kiss!!!
9) On Affection (no. 2)
Kiddo from #7: *Licks my arm*
*Runs his fingers through my hair*
*Tugs gently on my earlobe*
*Purples my nerple*
Monday, January 18, 2016
Namaste, Mother F*cker
I've been an active person most of my life. I grew up in martial arts and team sports, spending years traveling around, diving in front of soccer balls or punching people in the face (not during the same events, usually). After college I gravitated to grappling and fitness, supplementing my judo and jiu jitsu with HIIT and powerlifting. As long as I could remember, my stocky frame somehow managed to be muscular and unusually flexible all at once. It was awesome.
About a month ago, I woke up one morning to discover that my previously mobile left hip was frozen in place, unable to hinge backward with ease. My heart sunk. No more squatting, no more deadlifting, no more fun stuff at all; at least not until I could get this under control. Bummer. So, after a respectable period of moping, I grit my teeth, pulled up Google and researched something I hoped I'd never need: yoga.
It's weird to go to your first ever yoga class. While they are very kind, yoga people seem to assume that your first class at their studio could not possibly be your first yoga class ever of all time because after we entered the space and received a tour from the nice man at the front desk, we were pretty much on our own to figure out what to do once we got to the room.
Inside, people who seemed to have done many yogas had formed some haphazard rows of mats, but they'd mostly arranged themselves movie theater style, such that everyone had at least enough space for another mat on either side of themselves, but there really wasn't room for two new mats together. Not wanting to stand around like an obvious novice any longer, I shrugged and told my companion that she was on her own and found my way to a spot between a girl in a Lululemon tank top and a wall.
Funny thing: no matter where I am, even in familiar places, I'm always most comfortable with my back or at least my side to the wall. Whether it be a college classroom or seat yourself restaurant, I've always instinctively positioned myself along the perimeter. Knowing there's a solid entity defining my position seems to anchor me and, in so doing, relieves a little bit of anxiety. Don't worry too much though, there are about a zillion other sources of anxiety in the yoga room, so rest assured I've not found my zen just yet.
Anyway, eventually the class begins and I do my best to follow along, my years of grappling and strength training helping to mask the fact that I don't know what the fuck a chataranga is. It was sweaty, slippery and occasionally mildly painful as I made my way from pose to pose. I'm not sure about all the spine lengthening, connecting with breath or rooting to the earth, but I do love the idea of never having to speak to anyone before, during or after in order to participate. It's really just a bonus that each session seems to end with everyone in the room doing their level best impressions of a dead body for minutes on end.
After class, it was chaotic enough in the locker room and lobby that I managed to escape un-small talked, which was almost reason enough to come back again, which I am, tomorrow. Yoga: not the best, not the worst. Namaste, mother fuckers.
About a month ago, I woke up one morning to discover that my previously mobile left hip was frozen in place, unable to hinge backward with ease. My heart sunk. No more squatting, no more deadlifting, no more fun stuff at all; at least not until I could get this under control. Bummer. So, after a respectable period of moping, I grit my teeth, pulled up Google and researched something I hoped I'd never need: yoga.
It's weird to go to your first ever yoga class. While they are very kind, yoga people seem to assume that your first class at their studio could not possibly be your first yoga class ever of all time because after we entered the space and received a tour from the nice man at the front desk, we were pretty much on our own to figure out what to do once we got to the room.
Inside, people who seemed to have done many yogas had formed some haphazard rows of mats, but they'd mostly arranged themselves movie theater style, such that everyone had at least enough space for another mat on either side of themselves, but there really wasn't room for two new mats together. Not wanting to stand around like an obvious novice any longer, I shrugged and told my companion that she was on her own and found my way to a spot between a girl in a Lululemon tank top and a wall.
Funny thing: no matter where I am, even in familiar places, I'm always most comfortable with my back or at least my side to the wall. Whether it be a college classroom or seat yourself restaurant, I've always instinctively positioned myself along the perimeter. Knowing there's a solid entity defining my position seems to anchor me and, in so doing, relieves a little bit of anxiety. Don't worry too much though, there are about a zillion other sources of anxiety in the yoga room, so rest assured I've not found my zen just yet.
Anyway, eventually the class begins and I do my best to follow along, my years of grappling and strength training helping to mask the fact that I don't know what the fuck a chataranga is. It was sweaty, slippery and occasionally mildly painful as I made my way from pose to pose. I'm not sure about all the spine lengthening, connecting with breath or rooting to the earth, but I do love the idea of never having to speak to anyone before, during or after in order to participate. It's really just a bonus that each session seems to end with everyone in the room doing their level best impressions of a dead body for minutes on end.
After class, it was chaotic enough in the locker room and lobby that I managed to escape un-small talked, which was almost reason enough to come back again, which I am, tomorrow. Yoga: not the best, not the worst. Namaste, mother fuckers.
Friday, January 15, 2016
Welcome Back, Welcome Back, Welcome Back
In the words of that dog from that one meme, I have no idea what I'm doing.
In 2014 I wrote a couple entries, left the prairie, moved halfway across the country, met Thomas Jefferson (sort of, not really), turned around and it was 2016. Whoa. How did that happen?
Something like two weeks ago, I suspect in the throes of madness, I deactivated my Facebook account. Whoa again. See, what my simplified retelling of my two year journey doesn't mention is the erosion of a couple of important relationships, the unplanned transition that precipitated the journey itself and the decay of my emotional foundation that had apparently accumulated slowly, dust on a shelf, while I had my back turned or maybe had my fingers in my ears. If this all sounds pretty vague, don't worry, the upshot is simple: once I'd cut my ten year-old tether to the rest of the world, my addled brain once again drifted back to this virtual blank space and convinced me that if I typed some words in it, maybe I'd suddenly feel...better?
So I'm here, sitting in my second most comfortable chair at 12:08am, listening to Sia (which is a wonderful idea if you feel that the music of Adele is no longer wrenching your beating heart from your chest like it did when you two first met) and wondering how all of this happened and, maybe more importantly, what I really could have expected to have happened.
So, I'm going to try to write some things. Again. What things? No goddamn idea.
An investigation of my superhero (villain?) origin story that slowly unpacks a clown car of hurt, awkwardness and memories of past failures both innocuous and great (like the time I didn't realize my phone had autocorrected "Tom" to "Tim" in a text to Tom or that one time I got fired)? Maybe a little, hopefully not a lot.
How about a candid account of my professional life here in the present age? Probably not really, unless I somehow become much more comfortable with the idea of being fired again.
Perhaps a laundry list of the things I want, things I don't and things I don't understand? That could be the ticket.
In any event, I hope you'll bear with me, dear reader, as I try to figure out how I came to be here and how I plan to get to what's next.
In 2014 I wrote a couple entries, left the prairie, moved halfway across the country, met Thomas Jefferson (sort of, not really), turned around and it was 2016. Whoa. How did that happen?
Something like two weeks ago, I suspect in the throes of madness, I deactivated my Facebook account. Whoa again. See, what my simplified retelling of my two year journey doesn't mention is the erosion of a couple of important relationships, the unplanned transition that precipitated the journey itself and the decay of my emotional foundation that had apparently accumulated slowly, dust on a shelf, while I had my back turned or maybe had my fingers in my ears. If this all sounds pretty vague, don't worry, the upshot is simple: once I'd cut my ten year-old tether to the rest of the world, my addled brain once again drifted back to this virtual blank space and convinced me that if I typed some words in it, maybe I'd suddenly feel...better?
So I'm here, sitting in my second most comfortable chair at 12:08am, listening to Sia (which is a wonderful idea if you feel that the music of Adele is no longer wrenching your beating heart from your chest like it did when you two first met) and wondering how all of this happened and, maybe more importantly, what I really could have expected to have happened.
So, I'm going to try to write some things. Again. What things? No goddamn idea.
An investigation of my superhero (villain?) origin story that slowly unpacks a clown car of hurt, awkwardness and memories of past failures both innocuous and great (like the time I didn't realize my phone had autocorrected "Tom" to "Tim" in a text to Tom or that one time I got fired)? Maybe a little, hopefully not a lot.
How about a candid account of my professional life here in the present age? Probably not really, unless I somehow become much more comfortable with the idea of being fired again.
Perhaps a laundry list of the things I want, things I don't and things I don't understand? That could be the ticket.
In any event, I hope you'll bear with me, dear reader, as I try to figure out how I came to be here and how I plan to get to what's next.
Friday, May 9, 2014
Stuff you don't know until you learn...
If I've discussed this before, please forgive me, my mind is feeble from study...
Since it's practically the end of the school year at all the local elementary and middle schools, the rec center is overrun with classes of students bussed in to go swimming, play basketball, climb rock walls and otherwise stop driving their poor teachers insane for a damn minute already. As such, the locker rooms have been overrun with girls just entering puberty. Not surprisingly, this magical time is accompanied by a lot of body comparison, as many studies and my own anecdotal evidence suggests.
More than once this week I've overheard one little girl exclaim to a peer "it's not fair, I'm so [fat, flat chested, short, tall, skinny, ugly, whathaveyou] compared to you!" and it reminds me of my own envious, misspent youth. I've talked at some length in the past about my own body issues and how far I've come on the road to body acceptance, but I think more generally, there are a number of things we need to teach kids.
First, kids need to be taught to love their bodies. Whatever your spiritual affiliation, I believe that we can all agree that, extraordinary measures aside, we really only get the one shot at this earthly vessel, at least in this lifetime, so we may as well feel affection toward it, even if it isn't always the physical manifestation of the us we envision in our mind's eye.
Next, it's important to understand that loving your physical being doesn't equal complete acceptance of exactly what you look like right now as your forever body. It's good to set goals and seek to be the best you that you can be. The sticking point for most people (including me, often enough) is that we tend to overemphasize the "best" part at the expense of the "us" part. Though the majority of us simply don't have it in our DNA to set a world record in most athletic pursuits, there's nothing preventing us from setting and breaking our own personal bests.
It's also important that we reject the one size fits all approach to fitness and activity. Not everyone has to run distance or lift heavy. Not every kid has to play basketball or join the swim team. It's crucial to find something that speaks to you, and I believe that such a thing exists for everyone, if only they'd try enough things to find it. Along this same theme, it's important to be okay with being a beginner at something. Lots of people suck at this, but you would really think that children would be exempt, since they're beginners at life, let alone soccer or tennis. They're not. Largely because PE teachers, coaches and parent praise those who already can do without taking the time to acknowledge the progress of those who have not yet done. It's not how you train a puppy, nor should it be how you build up a student.
Finally, it's important to teach children the power of their own efficacy. As discussed above, everyone has their own ability cap, but realistically, few people even truly try to reach theirs because they don't believe in their own capacity to affect change. This train of thought is harmful because it breeds learned helplessness and does nothing to help us develop our own agency. It is paramount to feel that we are capable of influencing our own destiny, even if we have to rewrite our objectives every now and then.
Obviously, this isn't going to stop teen girls and boys from being uncomfortable in their own skin all the time, we all have things we'd like to change about ourselves, but just acknowledging the depth and breadth of our potential and being willing to engage in exploring them is, in my opinion, an integral part in being who we want to be in the world and within ourselves.
Since it's practically the end of the school year at all the local elementary and middle schools, the rec center is overrun with classes of students bussed in to go swimming, play basketball, climb rock walls and otherwise stop driving their poor teachers insane for a damn minute already. As such, the locker rooms have been overrun with girls just entering puberty. Not surprisingly, this magical time is accompanied by a lot of body comparison, as many studies and my own anecdotal evidence suggests.
More than once this week I've overheard one little girl exclaim to a peer "it's not fair, I'm so [fat, flat chested, short, tall, skinny, ugly, whathaveyou] compared to you!" and it reminds me of my own envious, misspent youth. I've talked at some length in the past about my own body issues and how far I've come on the road to body acceptance, but I think more generally, there are a number of things we need to teach kids.
First, kids need to be taught to love their bodies. Whatever your spiritual affiliation, I believe that we can all agree that, extraordinary measures aside, we really only get the one shot at this earthly vessel, at least in this lifetime, so we may as well feel affection toward it, even if it isn't always the physical manifestation of the us we envision in our mind's eye.
Next, it's important to understand that loving your physical being doesn't equal complete acceptance of exactly what you look like right now as your forever body. It's good to set goals and seek to be the best you that you can be. The sticking point for most people (including me, often enough) is that we tend to overemphasize the "best" part at the expense of the "us" part. Though the majority of us simply don't have it in our DNA to set a world record in most athletic pursuits, there's nothing preventing us from setting and breaking our own personal bests.
It's also important that we reject the one size fits all approach to fitness and activity. Not everyone has to run distance or lift heavy. Not every kid has to play basketball or join the swim team. It's crucial to find something that speaks to you, and I believe that such a thing exists for everyone, if only they'd try enough things to find it. Along this same theme, it's important to be okay with being a beginner at something. Lots of people suck at this, but you would really think that children would be exempt, since they're beginners at life, let alone soccer or tennis. They're not. Largely because PE teachers, coaches and parent praise those who already can do without taking the time to acknowledge the progress of those who have not yet done. It's not how you train a puppy, nor should it be how you build up a student.
Finally, it's important to teach children the power of their own efficacy. As discussed above, everyone has their own ability cap, but realistically, few people even truly try to reach theirs because they don't believe in their own capacity to affect change. This train of thought is harmful because it breeds learned helplessness and does nothing to help us develop our own agency. It is paramount to feel that we are capable of influencing our own destiny, even if we have to rewrite our objectives every now and then.
Obviously, this isn't going to stop teen girls and boys from being uncomfortable in their own skin all the time, we all have things we'd like to change about ourselves, but just acknowledging the depth and breadth of our potential and being willing to engage in exploring them is, in my opinion, an integral part in being who we want to be in the world and within ourselves.
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