Just Me I have always considered myself in terms of ‘just.’ At age eighteen, it sometimes seems as if I have not encountered or, more specifically, been given the amount of years it would take to accomplish or even realize my goals. I am just a kid. I am just a girl. I am just […]
I have always considered myself in terms of ‘just.’ At age eighteen, it sometimes seems as if I have not encountered or, more specifically, been given the amount of years it would take to accomplish or even realize my goals. I am just a kid. I am just a girl. I am just one person. How could I possibly tell, at this age, what my religion is? How can I fight for my beliefs? How could I even begin to make a difference, when I am just Armanda? In recent years, the people around me and even my own judgments have tended to give an excuse for my mediocrity in terms of age, in terms of just. It is in these times when I must have a blind faith in myself and believe, constantly, that I am Just Me, and that that is just fine.
This sense of incompleteness has gotten to the point where I do not know whether I will ever capture those simple things with which the entire world has always been so full of. I am not confident that I will ever have a truly dedicated ambition, or a cause to fight for that encompasses the extent of my most desperate desires, each of which I cannot yet name. I worry that I will never set a steady goal, understand my unnamed desires, or find a belief that I can build my life around if I am always taken by this sense of inability. I worry whether I will ever be actually interested in accomplishing those things if I continue to push them off with an ever-present, laissez-fair sense of unimportance. But I do believe, I have to believe, that the meandering footsteps I make now will be able to be erased by my future self.
It is that claim which gives me comfort now, but the same hope is the excuse which immaturely destroys my chances to overcome my problem. If I do not act now to find out who I am, will I ever have the desire to do so again? I wish to force a change in the world, to define myself, and to be remembered by future generations as much as any human does; but when faced head-on with the actions that I could take to render my dreams reality, my body goes numb and my mind overcompensates, telling me that ‘I’m just eighteen.’
I go on, day to day, with one piece of knowledge that I am absolutely certain I have correct. I am just one person, but that just does not matter. It has been proven, time and time again, that the actions of one can change the lives of thousands of people. I have no intentions to become so powerful because I do not have the courage to be faced with such a chance of failure, but I am supported by what that fact implies. If one person can change the lives of thousands, she can certainly change the life of one, herself.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.