“Why Can’t You Be Realistic?”
My whole life I’ve been told who I am, what I need to do, and who I will ultimately become. The question of “what do you want to be when you grow up?” overwhelmed me; for the first time in my life, I was given the power of choice over my destiny. In response to this question, vivid dreams of stardom, fame, and luxury crowded my attention. I decided, after carefully weighing my options as an espionage agent, movie star, and rapper, that I didn’t need school and would become a professional soccer player.
I had a persistent hunger for the game and I devoured it with an eager tenacity. I loved everything about it: from the skills and goals to the feel of the warm freshly cut grass in the heat of the late afternoon. Most of all, I loved the smooth glide of the ball as I stroked it into the back of the net. My dreams consumed me. Eventually, I sustained the “infamous injury” that all middle-aged weekend warriors claim ended their “potential professional career.” After a year with 2 broken ankles and countless sessions of physical therapy, the love and prospective hope were gone. Ultimately, reality intruded upon these dreams with the crushing force of limitation. My parents hoped that this would end my silly dreams, replacing them with more stable, achievable, livable goals. I resented the injuries to my ankles and my pride. My response to their pleading and cajoling: major in political science and become President of the United States.
Of course, this lofty life goal received as little parental support as the soccer dream (they want me to be a computer programmer), but has in truth become the anticipated hope of my future. As events of turmoil and destruction permeated the media, I felt a necessity to understand what was happening in my world. I dove into the topic devouring every book, article, and news story I could surrounding politics, government, and foreign affairs. I was determined to become a force for change in the world. Through research and dialogue, I found a new passion that inspired personal growth, change, and a newfound maturity. Frustration and natural curiosity gave way to productivity.
Despite newfound passions, motivations, and successes, I was repeatedly told to be “realistic.” I soon grew to hate the word. A whole lifetime of being told “you can do anything you set your mind too” was washed down the drain. Perhaps to an older generation accustomed to a mundane “9–5” having “silly dreams” seemed selfish, especially when the primary concern is putting food on the table. I can certainly understand priorities. But to me practicality seemed to be the surest route toward mediocrity. How could I give up on dreams before they had even started?
Now, I’m a senior in high school with the pressure of a world that is growing more competitive daily as the job market saturates. I’m still urged to be “realistic.” Whether that means changing my selected major, taking a job in STEM, or just expecting less out of life, I’m unsure. My parents think I need to “grow up.” Apparently, being President of the United States isn’t a very practical goal. My greatest quality is, in fact, my desire to remain idealistic, stubborn, and utterly impractical. I believe in myself, and for now that will have to be enough.
