how i fix my problems
unfortunately, leaps of faith require faith
many problems in life can be put into the form “[measurable] is not good enough for [reason(s)], according to [person(s)].” here are two ways to solve this problem:
improve [measurable]
rephrase [reason(s)]
on paper, solution 1 seems much more difficult than solution 2. solution 2 is a rephrasing, which only involves persuading the appropriate [person(s)] that the [measurable] is good enough. it’s the easy way out. still, if [person(s)] can be persuaded, then how truly un-good was [measurable] in the first place? in my book, both solutions are equally valid.
okay, great. i’ve convinced myself that being lazy is okay. unfortunately for me, though, life is still not easy, and the reason is that [person] is usually me, and i am very, very skeptical. combine that with the fact that i, like many other mit students, grew up without being really convinced of our own limits, and we get an entire school of students who stubbornly refuse to go easy on themselves.
there’s certainly a positive phrasing of this: i’m ambitious, and i’d like to be the best person that i possibly can be. and i think i turned out alright—so i must have done something right, right? despite this, i can’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. this framework has extended far beyond work and academics to my personality and identity and my very being. you see, i don’t solve my problems by learning to accept myself. if there’s something i don’t like about myself, then i’ll fix it. if i hate myself, then i simply need to prove to myself that i was wrong, beyond all reasonable doubt. and maybe i won’t be satisfied, and maybe it doesn’t drown out that familiar sinking feeling that i’ll never be good enough, but at the very least, it’s comforting to know, at least on a rational level, that my self-hatred is irrational. i’m pretty, i’m good at physics, i’m a nice person, i’m a good friend, i’m worth something. i’ve taken time to collect evidence and show myself that these things are probably true. i don’t know if i have faith in myself, but at least i have faith in the time and effort i’ve put into shaping myself in the person i’d like to see myself be.
in reality, however, self perceptions are not blanket truths. i know that. i know i can’t keep this up forever. i know there are some things i can’t fix, and i know that there are some things that i shouldn’t fix. i know one day i will hit a wall and i won’t know how to deal with it. i know because i’m hitting one of those walls right now. because
i’m asexual.
(oops, that was random. nothing like coming out by nervously blurting it out of nowhere!)
but i don’t like that i am. it’s a “problem”—it makes life more difficult for me, and probably someone i care about, too. i know, i know–there’s nothing “wrong” with me, and it’s silly (horrible, actually) for me to think of something like my asexuality as a problem, or something that needs to be fixed. therein lies the issue. i see a problem and i try to fix it; i see myself and i try to erase her. if i existed in a vacuum, accepting myself wouldn’t be as hard as it is. but i don’t, and i don’t know if i have the courage to ask the world to accept me for who i am. i don’t know if i have the courage because my faith in myself is not blind; it is conditional—conditional on successful endeavors in intentional self change. in contrast, my faith in the people that i care about is blind, and so i don’t know if i have the courage to accept their disappointment, either.
i need the courage to let go. and that’s what i’m most afraid of, right now: letting go. for the last few years, i’ve always felt like i was hanging onto the edge of a crumbling cliff. alone. everyone was growing up without me. everyone was leaving me behind. and i’m protesting, wait wait wait, i’m normal, i swear. please help me. please just give me one more chance. some people did try to help pull me up; none succeeded. i tried to pull myself up. i didn’t succeed, either. i couldn’t understand why it was so easy for everyone else. so when i finally figured out that i’m asexual, it was like discovering i could go…home. i’d been clinging onto the edge of a place i was never meant to be in the first place, and now i could finally stop. it was a huge relief, honestly. but now i’m looking down. and i’m afraid. i don’t want to let go—because i’m afraid of falling. i don’t know how fall, i don’t know how to fail, and i don’t want to know what happens when i hit the ground. i don’t want to face tomorrow knowing that there’s no going back to this world in which i am “normal”. and i’m starting to think, maybe it’s not too late. maybe there’s still a chance. fuck the epiphany, fuck everything making sense, fuck all the euphoria and gladness and emotions felt discovering that i’m not insane—but i know that’s fucking stupid.
maybe i’ll pretend i’m skydiving. i wish there was a phrase for this feeling, like the calm before the storm, except more like, i don’t know, the very un-calm instinct-driven scream before the fall that’s allegedly good for you.
just kidding. i know what it is. it’s a leap of faith.
see you on the other side