SOME CALL IT TEENAGE ANGST

I'm a teen. Even though that word is forever linked with high school in my mind, and I am no longer in high school, I am still a teen. Eighteen. And I think that I deserve more credit. And I think that all teens deserve more credit. The adult world labels us as problems. It jeeringly says "You're lazy. You're underachieving. You're careless. You're heartless. You're unoriginal. You're useless." And so we set out to prove them wrong, to show them that we have worth. We stretch forward with creativity, presenting the cascading prisms of our imaginations. We open the rusty latch that guards our souls and we pour out the warm, flickering essence of our beings with compassion and honesty and unabashed boldness. We puzzle within our minds and layer observation upon observation upon observation-- levels building and breaking and forming within our cerebral cortexes-- challenging the norms, posing new questions, reaching new solutions. We do all this, trying and trying and trying to show them that we are capable. That we are smart. That we are aware. That we are living, breathing, feeling humans that don't fit the tired mold they try to keep us in. And they reply, but it isn't with the ringing praises we so craved. They tell us that our passions are silly. Our emotions are overly dramatic. Our ingenuity is impractical. 

Why were they upset? We were active-- not lazy! We were productive-- not underachieving! We were careful-- not careless! We were empathetic-- not heartless! We were unique-- not unoriginal! And we certainly thought we were useful. 

But they don't see it that way. In their minds, we still failed. And the only way to win with them, is to do it their way. They fail to see that there are multiple ways to live this life successfully. To them, success for us is the same success as it was for them. So stop trying to win with them, and start trying to win with yourself instead. You, whoever you are reading this, stay passionate, and emotional, and ingenious. Follow the stars that speckle in your cosmic skies, not the stars that speckle in theirs. There is an innate flame within you, and only you and you alone know what builds that flame, and what smothers it. 

Trust yourself. 

Here's to you, whoever you are. Here's to the whipped, flossy pink clouds that make you smile when you see them grazing in the vast pastures of the evening sky. Here's to the foreign land that your heart so aches to travel to. Here's to the classes you're taking that make you realize that it is truly possible to have a love affair with a field of study. Here's to the song you listen to on repeat because whenever the bass drops in the second verse it seems to drop all your worries with it. Here's to you, here's to what makes that flame build. 

Here's to us, teens of the world. May we each live a life that we love.