I think it’s pretty fitting that my time here started with a partial solar eclipse in sixth grade and ended with a total one just before graduating.
Back when I was in sixth grade, I always thought this was an indicator of my future success. I was going to be the star (sorry) tennis player, with perfect grades and everything in between.
Now, I wouldn’t say that expectation has disappeared, but rather it just changed. Instead of pursuing the “perfect” route (get good grades, go to a good college and make a lot of money), I’ve realized success comes internally.
My sixth-grade year, when I thought of becoming a prodigious tennis player, was the time I first picked up a baseball. Within a year, I put down the tennis racket for good.
Life has a funny way of subverting even the most perfectly laid plans — and since life can’t follow a play, success can’t either.
Recognizing this has reframed my definition of success; instead of relying on external markers (grades, money, prestige, etc.) I’ve come to value the internal satisfaction that comes from pursuing hobbies and interests I actually care about.
Success is living in the moment: the time I spend playing MLB the Show with my younger brother, finding new albums on Spotify, and yes, even the late nights in the journalism suite racing against deadline.
It’s easy to, wait scratch that, it’s really easy to get caught up in the rat race. But as I look towards my first year in college, I realize that, while these externalities matter, they are only a very small picture of a significantly wider puzzle.
Now looking back, it isn’t the huge, short cosmic events that color my time here. The sun rises and sets every day, and the little things stay the same. And really — that’s just the way I like it.
