Hesitancy, doubt, and longing have become too commonplace. In fact, we have romanticized these obstacles into the act of yearning, of silencing our voices before they can be judged, and of keeping our distance from what we can’t help but love.
Sure, this applies to that person you see walking the same route through Wilder Bowl each day but are afraid to make eye contact with. Perhaps the one you long for feels forbidden, as though things would be easier if you kept your words to yourself. But yearning is not bound by romance. It affects vast areas of our lives, halting growth and exploration when we are afraid of that first jump. We must recognize when daydreaming diverges from being a harmless pastime into an excuse not to take action.
Since childhood, we have been asked the question: Who do you want to be when you grow up? This sparks our desire to yearn, to imagine perfect versions of our lives. As I reflect more and more, I realize that my answer to this question lies not only in how I want to make my salary, but also in how I want to find happiness each day, whether that is an effect of my mindset, the people I surround myself with, or which city I call home.
In college, we are more subtly asked this age-old question in countless variations: Do you want to go into grad school? Who are you looking for at this party? Are you living at home again after college? These questions, while drastically different, ultimately serve a united purpose of asking each other and ourselves who we want to be and how we want to find happiness. They prompt us to evaluate and reevaluate our next steps. But when the time comes for actions, we often falter.
My habit of longing for things without doing anything about it began during my childhood. From preschool through the first half of high school, I felt nervous every time I was outside of my home, and I didn’t know why. I craved a sense of normalcy, of being able to sit through an entire day of school without going to the nurse’s office out of panic. My parents started to expect the call from the nurse reporting headache or stomachache. Of course, these were symptoms I made up to avoid communicating what I was actually dealing with: panic attacks, nearly every day. I wanted so badly to tell someone the truth, but I was afraid of their reactions.
To this day, I cherish one interaction I had with a substitute school nurse in eighth grade. She began to ask me the same questions that I had countless answers to on deck: “What brings you here today? What are your symptoms?”
I answered: “I have a headache and feel dizzy, and I need to go home.”
But she didn’t stop there. She asked me questions that I didn’t expect: “Are you sure it’s just a headache and nothing more? Is there something you’re not telling me?” Perhaps it was my restless leg, darting eyes, or the way I was fidgeting with my hair and digging my fingernails into the back of my hand. Although I didn’t admit to her what I was really going through, she spoke a phrase that stuck with me: “You are safe, right here and right now.”
Once I made this my mantra, the idea of being honest with myself and others began to feel more approachable. One day after school, I walked up to my dad and told him about my racing heart, dizziness, desire to escape, and impending sense of doom that were interfering with my ability to function five or six times a week. He told me: “You’re just having panic attacks.” As invalidating as this statement felt at the time, it was, to some extent, what I needed to hear. I was having panic attacks. I could tell people I was having panic attacks and not headaches.
Whenever I was asked what I wanted to do with my life, my answer was always to be a normal, functioning member of society. That, and I wanted to be a doctor — I still do. Once I started communicating honestly with those around me who could support me, I was able to take steps to get to where I wanted to be, whether that was through having conversations, starting therapy, or going on meds. To me, this anecdote serves as a reminder of why it is harmful to remain complacent when I know what I want and need. I can think back upon some of the worst periods of my life, knowing that my happiness and quality of life improved when I moved beyond yearning for a feeling of normalcy and instead took initiative to get there.
Stop spending more time daydreaming than taking action. Yearning for your perfect future is out; taking steps to chase those goals is in. Whether you are applying to that job or working up the nerve to talk to that person, know that this life is yours.
