Then

Then, it was the thrill of competition, the intoxicated enslavement to external affirmation. Their praise the syringe which liquified victory’s taste into tunnel vision. Each moment hardly appreciated, yet completely exploited as the tool of the next day’s success, my success. But what was that success that I worked so hard to embody? Getting into a college I considered “better than”? Trading my understanding of the interpersonal for understanding of academic perfection? No, I do not accept that as the limit of success.

As second child, I thrived off of given tasks. My meaning was found in their perfect completion - because to perfect is to succeed, of course. This satisfaction granted the perfect dopamine to habituate my life. Then came college, the perfect competitor to assuage its challenges against my naive volition. Gone was every external source of affirmation: those people, ideals, and expectations I worked so hard to satisfy from my first moment of comprehension.

Intrinsic. Motivation.

Low and behold a new conception of meaning drove its way to the forefront of my life and studies. This “intrinsic” thing that all other people seemed to have, yet I knew so little about. The driving force which compels every student at uva to pour their hearts and souls into schoolwork, extracurriculars, and passions- and excel at them beyond my capability and patience to do the same. Now that just pissed. me. off. Because I was the professional multitasker, the girl who had the ability, who had the forty five minutes worth of attention each day to perform better than 110 other kids in my grade in high school (it was a small school, ok). So, now what? Recognizing my miniscule and blatantly ordinary existence in an ocean of excellence was utterly earthshaking to me. No one needed me. Except, myself.

But what did I need from this life? When your daily needs are all fulfilled for you, what more could you ask for? With no impending debt in the near future, and a place at a college designed for job opportunities, what else is there really to live for? I decided to take multiple headon dives into this question during what better time than finals week. After having received my first college B in an intro Biology class, I decided to take a second on the marble steps of Old Cabell Hall to reconsider. Looking out across what was the lawn in the spring, red and white rotunda brick beautifully contrasted against the lush growth of newly budded grass beyond Homer’s stoic backside, I worked myself into a pit of depressive thoughts. For what I thought was a couple minutes, I decided to ponder what meaning really was, its roots, its demonstrations, and its place in my life: to no avail except that I have to make it myself.

Well shit.

If meaning is long term happiness, then what makes me happy? And how can I figure that out as soon as possible and then make money doing it and keep everyone investing in me happy all simultaneously? Ugh.

Well, I started with swimming: There’s just something about the secret competition between me and that one old dude two lanes over (that I’m always winning) that just makes me swim a little faster, work a little harder, leave feeling a little more accomplished than an hour before. Or, it’s drives in my bug with the top down, music blasting and genres metamorphosing from Guns ‘N Roses Welcome to the Jungle to Aretha Franklin and Jack Harlow. It’s casual hugs from my mom in the Trader Joe’s checkout line, or the umami tide of phó enjoyed in sips and slurps from a plastic cup at the Dairy Market.

“Do more of what makes you happy.” - Unknown

Yeah, I think I can do that.