Dear Diary, I Want…
“I will be an author/pianist/clarinetist/figure skater/actress/teacher when I grow up.”
Earlier this summer, I found all my diaries. This is one of the earliest entries, written when I was 11. But the funny thing is, I don’t remember writing it at all. Most of these dream careers don’t even make sense to me now.
I quit figure skating a few years after writing this, and I was never very good at it to begin with. By the time I graduated high school, I was sick of the clarinet. My interest in piano tapered off a little more slowly, but it’s been years since I played regularly. I don’t remember ever having an aptitude or interest in acting — I think I just liked watching movies, which, to be fair, is still true. I remember wanting to be a teacher, but I don’t remember why; I think “teacher” was the only job I saw in action as a kid. Only one of these dream careers is still even somewhat true, though by “author” I meant “novelist,” not “blogger.”
Looking back at an earlier version of yourself, you see just how different you are — and just how much your dreams have changed. I went back through my diaries to find out what I wanted desperately when I was younger. Most of these seem so far away now.
Age 12–13: I want to be… thin.
Puberty hit me early and hard, and I gave up wanting to have six careers at the same time and spent the next few years wanting to be skinny, pretty and popular. It’s a little sad reading my diary entries from this time.
The first entry like this comes a month after my 12th birthday: “I wish I was thin,” and two doodles, showing what I thought my body looked like and how I wanted it to look. A little later: “Sometimes I feel so fat. I’m ugly too. I have a bunch of pimples and my hair is ‘crap blonde,’ as [middle school bully’s name retracted] calls it.” These phrases are all pretty common for a few years: “I want to lose 10 pounds.” “I want to lose 15 pounds.” “I’m so gross.” “I’m ugly.” I want to give little preteen me a hug.
Age 14–16: I want… a boyfriend.
The letters of one entry are so big to take up a whole page: “I WANT A BOYFRIEND.” My crushes were superficial, fleeting and rare, so this was mostly about wanting the idea of a boyfriend rather than wanting a particular boy. Which might make the wanting even more intense.
There’s a certain sort of type-A thinking to it, like it’s another piece of homework to be completed: “I’m missing all the important deadlines. First boyfriend. First kiss.” “It’s the start of junior year. This year, I want a boyfriend. I’m almost 16, and time is running out.” ”My New Year’s resolutions are: 1. Be kissed by the end of the year. 2. Stop being jealous of my friends. 3. Lose weight.” “I want a boyfriend. D has one. M has one. Seems like everyone has one but me.”
Age 17–18: I want to be… different.
I moved from a small town in Michigan to Boston for college, and I pinned a lot of hopes on this. I wanted a new life, to start over. To get out of this town, like a pop punk song.
“This year sucks, but there are things that keep me going: there’s hope, hope for the future, for next year, for college. I really do think things will get better. I think that once I get out of here, I’ll be all right.”
Age 24: I want to be… better.
I stopped keeping a regular diary shortly after I started college — it was some combination of having my own laptop for the first time, and having no privacy at all for the first time. There are a handful of journal-like Word docs I have saved, mostly gushing about boys or bitching about friends. I still occasionally write diary entries, but they’re usually stuck in my phone’s Notes or crammed in a random notebook between to-do lists. I did find a fairly recent entry, though, that still feels pretty true:
“I want too much,” I wrote. “I want to be better at everything. To write more and write better and submit everywhere, to have a real relationship, to be a better friend. To be prettier and better dressed and well spoken and to know everything but not in an obnoxious way.”
It’s not an “author/pianist/clarinetist/figure skater/actress/teacher,” but it might be even more ambitious.
