‘I spend longer than I would like to admit thinking about the way I said “Hi” to that girl on the stairs’
Clearly, I have no idea what I’m doing.
[Editor’s note: “I don’t know what I’m doing” is a recurring personal column that pays homage to Johnny Auping’s “I have no idea what I’m doing” personal column in The New Yorker. Opinions expressed here belong only to the author, and, we hope, nobody else on the planet.–Josh Towner, opinions editor]
By Chloe Peter | Journalist
I have a confession: I don’t know what I’m doing.
I don’t know how to be on my own. So maybe I’m fine thinking for myself and in eighth grade, some teachers pulled me aside to talk about my good leadership skills, but I don’t think they’ve grown much since then. I call my mom in a frantic panic whenever a bad day has got me down. I look around often to make sure that the people around me aren’t looking at me weirdly because I’m doing something different. And, I periodically just sit in my suitemate’s room instead of my own because I need to be with another person.
I don’t know anything about cars. I feel like I should know because I grew up watching Top Gear with my uncles, and my favorite part of the week used to be when I listened to Car Talk on Saturday morning car rides to my grandma’s house. But really, someone could tell me that they have a Ford Civic Altima something or other ,which are words I sort of recognize go with cars, and I’d just nod along.
I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I tell people that I had this amazing realization in sixth grade where after I attended National Geographic’s “Women of Vision” exhibit in Washington, D.C., I knew that I wanted to be a journalist. This story is true, but I have no idea if it’s actually what I’m cut out for. I’ve been writing stories since I could coherently write and even wrote fake news stories for my siblings. I’ve come a long way since my stories of ants having fun in the rain gutters and interviewing my sister about ghosts. But, I have no idea if I could live it out as my job let alone knowing about a family or housing or anything else.
I don’t know how to talk to people without worrying about what they think the whole time. I spend longer than I would like to admit thinking about the way I said “hi” to that girl on the stairs on my way to class. Did she think I was strange? Why did I answer it in that tone of voice? Now, she could think I was angry at her for no reason at all. I guarantee that I would not notice any of these things on other people because I’m too busy worrying if they noticed the bright red break out on my chin or if I had a stain on my shirt.
I don’t know how to use chopsticks. People have definitely tried to teach me over the years, but I just don’t have the right hand coordination. It would be a cool skill to use while eating Pad Thai, but I’m always forced to use the kid ones with a rubber band tied around them and a rolled up piece of paper in between.
As you can see, I’m a little over my head. But, not knowing everything in life is what makes it exciting and fun…mostly.
