I was asked before attending college, “Are you worried you’ll feel small?” My answer was always “no.” The truth reads differently.
From being an 18-year-old freshman to a 22-year-old senior, I’ve obsessed over my insignificance. The others have scholarships. The others have 300 likes on each of their Instagram posts. The others locked themselves into internships. The others travel more. The others look better without a shirt on. The others are on a path traveling toward success. I struggle for money, for likes, for successful applications, for trips to Europe, to keep my weight down. To figure out where it is I’m going.
The pain and the process humbled me. The others made it look so simple.
One thing I’ve never concerned myself with is how the others write. I’ve had blind confidence in my ability to pen essays, news articles, columns, short stories and novels, almost never stopping to be jealous about the work of other scribes, excepting Mark Twain. Due in part to my time at The Daily Campus, I’m my own writer now – not even Samuel Clemens is a measuring stick. This could come from a combination of my whiteness and maleness; it could be my mother’s encouragement; it could be that I’m actually that good. I decided long before college that if I couldn’t have everything I wanted, I could at least let the world know how good I am at the one thing I can do well.
Read the full column at The Daily Campus.