I believe in myself, but I feel like it hasn’t always been that way. I think I have more confidence in myself because I know myself a bit more these days, but maybe that’s something that has come with age.
I know that I like certainty. I know that I like reading the end of books and discovering the ends of TV episodes or movies even though I used to be one of those people who refused spoilers. I know that I prefer American culture to Nepalese, but Nepal will always be home, and it hasn’t always been that way. I know that I like my hair short, but I am still the same girl who had the the long hair down to her hips all the way through middle school, and though she feels unrecognizable to me these days she is me. And so are all the past versions of me, they feel distant even though I know they are me.
I am myself when I am six years old. My mom and I have just landed in the US for the first time, and I break down crying because this is not home. I do not know anyone on our block, nor the language. There are no other Nepali people. There are no late summer evenings where neighbors talk about life under streetlights fighting off mosquitos. There are no tourists to be amazed by as they walk by our streets for a couple days only to return home to their lives.
I am myself when I am nine years old. I am walking down a long hospital hallway with a family friend, equipped only with the knowledge that my dad had been in a car accident. As I walk down that hallway I can hear this agonizing sobbing and I wonder to myself what could have happened that this person is in so much pain. When I reach the end of the hallway I recognize that it is my mom’s cries I have been hearing, and when I see my dad I find out what has happened for this much pain to occur.
I am myself when I am twelve years old. For the first time in years I have returned home, and there is a tiny part of me that wants to cry again like I am six because this too is not home, at least not the home I left behind. It is the same place, but everything feels different. It feels as if someone rearranged my room while I was gone, and now I don’t know where anything is and I can’t find anything I’m looking for.
I am myself when I am I am sixteen years old. I spend Saturdays that summer listening to upbeat kpop, touring the sights of DC, trying to understand myself as I think of the changes to come with senior year, and trying to understand this country that seems to have changed somewhere throughout the years since I immigrated here.
I am myself when I am seventeen, and the dancing queen. I spend a good couple months dedicated to deciding my future, wondering if this college is worth it or that one, wondering if I should play it safe or take that risk, wondering who I will be in four years and if where I will be will be the deciding factor in that.
I will be myself when I am twenty-one, graduating college, prepared to have an existential crisis about where my life is going. I will be myself when I am twenty-five and wondering if I made the right choices, or if I should do something different altogether, and if it’s too late to start over. And, I will be myself at whatever age I am.
I will be different, I know that. I will probably still cringe at my younger self, I know that, and I will still be trying to figure myself out, I know that.
Sara McCrea
Around mid-February of this year, my parents and I found ourselves at Falafel King, a restaurant at which my father has been a regular since the ‘70s. My grandfather used to take my dad and his siblings there about once a week, and to memorialize him we often go there to indulge ourselves in lunches of hummus and warm falafel. On this particular Saturday, I was right in the thick of stress about the college admissions process, and as my parents recounted their successes and disappointments of the week my mind was somewhere else, spiraling around the dark uncertainty of my future. I was silent as I nibbled on my dolmades, trying to picture myself strolling on a college campus, and worrying about the hundreds of things on my to do list that was waiting for me at my desk. My dad got up to make a call outside and my mother excused herself for the restroom, leaving me in the booth to push my food around my plate. I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I barely noticed the man next to me, who was repeating, “Excuse me?” He was looking in my direction, but his misty eyes were focused far behind me. After turning around and realizing that he must be addressing me, I finally responded, blushing for not recognizing that he was blind. His next question was one that my parents say every night as we sit down for dinner, but the way he said it made my skin prickle. His voice was unexpectedly smooth, and he sounded much younger than his shock of gray hair suggested. “What are you grateful for today?” I did not hesitate to tell him that I have so much to be grateful for. I told him that I am grateful for my loving friends and family, and that I get to go to school and learn and feel safe. I then asked him what he was grateful for, he grinned and told me how blessed he felt to still be alive. Doctors had told him 35 years ago that he had a month left to live, and now every morning he wakes up with a smile on his face. He was a husband, a father, a grandfather, a musician. After our exchange, my parents and I cleared our plates and left. My mother noticed I was smiling and asked me what had happened, but I could not answer. I felt like the conversation was a dream, and I could not bring myself to explain what had occurred. But as we strolled down Pearl Street, everything looked different. Brighter. This man was so willing to tell me his story, which reminded me of a belief that I have carried for as long as I can remember.
I grew up in a house of stories. My father, a photographer and documentary filmmaker, has always been a visual storyteller, and through his camera he is able to capture stories that words would not suffice to tell. My mother, a former screenplay editor and current psychologist, helps her clients expand the stories that they did not know were in them. When I was young and would cry, my parents would tell me stories to distract me, and when I was scared they would tell me stories that made me feel like everything would be alright. As I grew up, my fascination with stories never wavered. It’s what led me to different forms of storytelling—music, theatre, and most of all, written storytelling—and to a belief that dictates much of what I do and who I am. I believe that infinite stories are waiting to be told and all we have to do is ask. When we are able to connect through asking each other questions, we can learn about the world and ourselves. When I’m walking through a crowd, I try to imagine the unique experiences and stories of every person that make up who they are. I believe that it is my job to find these stories. That is why I try to ask questions, and why I keep reminding myself that the world is so much bigger than my story. That is why I feel so passionately about journalism, why I am fascinated by the implications of education, and why I was captivated by the idea of gathering the beliefs of our senior class. In asking what we are grateful for; what we believe in, and who we are, we can make connections that open our eyes to new perspectives, and remind us that there is so much to live for.
Anonymous
I believe in the power of joy and what it brings us. Joy is the most powerful emotion in the world; it can motivate us when we are exhausted, it can interest us in the most dreadfully boring things, it can energize us.
I went through a period of time where everything I did in my life was for other people; while it may or may not have brought me joy, I never even bothered to focus on how what I was doing was affecting me, because I was so caught up in what everyone else thought. Suddenly, I came to a realization. Every Monday night, I was staying up late working on research that I wasn’t interested in, so that I could impress my mentor on Tuesday (while struggling to fend off boredom and remain awake during our meeting), and proceed to spend the rest of the week dreading the next time I met with him. Why was I wasting my time doing something I didn’t care about? I then proceeded to do the hardest thing I’ve ever done–– I told my mentor that I simply wasn’t interested in the work we were doing. I thought that I was giving up research and letting down my mentor all at once, but I got a response that I absolutely didn’t expect; we made a list of completely new topics to explore, and picked one that was really interesting. From this experience I learned something very important: if I focus on my own opinion, not my mentor’s or my coach’s or my parent’s opinion, of myself and the activities I’m involved in, they start to take on a new shape and a new meaning. Just as my research, which overall I do enjoy, just had to take on a different topic, many of the other things I was involved in just needed a new meaning and purpose behind them. In this way, I was finding my own joy in everything I did. Focusing on the joyful aspects not only made my life more enjoyable, but it gave me more motivation. People ask why I didn’t stop caring after I got into college–– it’s because I care, and nothing outside of myself can change that.
Anonymous
I carry a Hydro Flask with me almost wherever I go. As an avid believer in the magic of a Hydro Flask (I mean, the water stays cold all day!) I think that it is much more than just a water bottle.
Growing up in the Boulder area, I can definitely say that there is a special sense of health and community. Where else can an insulated water bottle become such a hot trend? The place where Patagonia is affectionately known as PattaGucci, of course. The love for the outdoors is at the essence of the Hydro Flask. Mine has dents and scratches from bringing it on hikes. I’ve seen many with stickers. The character of your water bottle is important. It says a lot about a community when there is a huge focus on health, hydration, and our environment. Little things like saying “Hi” to someone you pass on a hike to larger scale environmental efforts, Boulder is the hippie capital of the nation. And it’s a good thing. Let me explain: our world is being overused to the point of depletion, our oceans are acidifying, the ice caps are melting. It is vital we all look to our inner hippie to try and make some changes. I believe in this generation in being the ones to set about and make strides.
A Hydro Flask is so much more than a water bottle. To me, it embodies the focus on health and the outdoors in Boulder. If everyone looked to be a little bit like Boulder, the world would be a better place. I love my cold water, but I also love our planet. I look forward to seeing the changes our generation can make.
Anonymous The Hardest Person to Love is Yourself
To a friend I say… Don’t worry it’ll all be okay You look beautiful don’t cry.
To myself I try to say the same But it comes out as You should run more I wish you were shorter I wish you were skinnier I wonder if everyone talks about you behind your back.
To a friend I say… Don’t worry it's only one test… one game… one class… one missed opportunity... There’s always next time.
To myself I try to say the same, but it comes out as you’re just lazy, you will never be good at this, maybe you should just give up, one day the opportunities will just stop coming.
To a friend I say… don’t worry I’m here for you I’ll take care of you. No worries, what are friends for if not for this?
To myself I wish they would say the same. Instead I am left with my own thoughts. Why are none of my friends here for me? Were they ever my friends? Has everyone forgotten about me? Do they know about what I’m going through?
To a friend I say the hard times will pass. To myself I wonder if they ever will. I know I think too much. I know that I should be proud of myself. I know I hold myself to too high a standard. I know all of these things, but that doesn’t mean I can stop any of the thoughts from coming. I know that everyone probably feels the same way I do, Because the hardest person to love is yourself.
Evan Savage The Power of Choice
I believe in choice. Basically every moment of our lives is filled with choices, like the choice of where to eat, the choice of whether to to get up for class, of what to wear, and on down to the thousands of tiny choices that happen driving. However, I believe that most of these are decisions, not choices. I define a decision as something we do out of habit, or “because we should,” or because it makes sense. Decisions are necessary, because if we thought through every option we would never get anything done. For me, choice is different. Choice is a declaration. It’s taking a conscious action.
Life, especially high school, is fundamentally about change. People change their interests, their identities, and their path in life. When I started middle school, I didn’t really know who I was or what I was good at. I discovered I was fairly good at academics, and so I became “the smart kid” of my class of 27. Outside of school, I fenced and I took ballet. I was very involved in science fair. As high school started, I realized I had fallen into most of my interests and that they weren’t necessarily me. I chose to pursue new things; I wanted to push myself out of my comfort zone, so I joined theater. I gained a new group of friends and a new part of my identity. I also loved science but realized science fair was no longer for me, so I applied to be an intern in a lab over the summer. Senior year, I had the stereotypical existential crisis and decided that I wanted to find something new. Many of my friends were on rowing crew, so I joined and absolutely loved it. My path from freshman to senior year is probably not the most usual one, but it is as a result of the big choices (like applying for an internship) down to the small ones (like pushing myself out of my comfort zone every day.) I am a very different person than I was when I first walked into Fairview in September of freshman year. In fact, he and I might not get along very well. We have very different personalities, opinions, habits and quirks. However, we still share the same values and the same core.
I believe in choice because I choose who I am. I get to to choose my path in life. From little things like our interests, hobbies, and how we fill our time, to larger things like whom we love, where we work, what drives us, and who we are, we all get to choose. We have the opportunity, every day, do choose the direction of our life, and ultimately the little, day to day choices determine our path. For me, this means that every day, I have the choice to be kind. The choice to follow my passion. The choice to be resilient. The choice to be an optimist. The choice to do something a little better every day. One of my favorite quotes is, “If you fell down yesterday, stand up today.” No matter what happens, each day you have the chance to choose again. This, I believe.
Anonymous
I believe in accidents and patterns.
It is often that we find patterns around us, like pictures drawn by connecting the dots between a million random data points. We might see shifting images predicting a future catastrophe in the depths of a crystal ball, or a hidden message encoded in a piece of text, or perhaps some small meaning in the two lines of print from inside a fortune cookie.
Our brains are designed to do this, because after six million years of being a species, the best way to survive is to recognize patterns better than anyone else. We’ve adapted to sift through the almost overwhelming stream of data we gather from our senses, memories, conscience thoughts and piece together some vague semblance of meaning or purpose.
I not only believe in accidents, I believe there are only accidents. Nothing is meant to be, nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere. We find ourselves in a situation, whether it was the best outcome or the worst, and from there we create the narrative. We tell ourselves it’s for the best, that was meant to be, that we can make it work...
I believe that there is no such thing as “inherent meaning”. Meaning is always made, for us, by us, much like how books don’t write themselves out of thin air; it is only by our hand that the pages, ink, and sweat evolve into something more. It is likely that you will not marry the right person. It is likely in a few years, you almost certainly won’t end up where you imagine yourself now. You won’t be famous or even very good looking. There is a good chance you will not be exceptional, but probably average.
But, I also believe in people. I believe that frequently they’re cruel, and stupid, and hopeful when they probably shouldn’t be, but nevertheless, they try. God they try so hard even when they shouldn’t, or even when they know that one day they’ll just find themselves decaying in the ground.
I believe that while it’s okay to find meaning in world without any, or to have hopes or dreams of a better life. It’s also okay to live in the chaos, to stop and relax for a minute, to let things unfold and see where they take you. Most of the time, it won’t be the right place.
Hell, it probably won’t ever be the right place, but not worrying too much about it just might make a difference.
Anonymous I first heard Zimbabwean music when I was four. Though I could not describe what was happening to me at that age, I remember the mellow, tiny, watery qualities of the mbira music and the sharper, brighter sounds of the marimba speaking to me. Zimbabwean music is feeling: perhaps telling a story or communicating a certain emotion. It has the power to speak on a spiritual level, break the barriers created by language, and elevate us to higher levels of consciousness. By the time I was five I was taking a class in Zimbabwean marimba, thus beginning my long relationship with the music. Over the past 12 years I have spent thousands of hours practicing and performing the millenias-old music that embodies a culture much more ancient than ours.
Music is my backbone, and I have since expanded my musical range from African music to Western music as well. It has guided every decision I have made since the age of four, provided the motivation I needed to survive when times got hard, and acted as the release I required to fully understand who I am. My music has sent me to the international stages in both the Zimbabwean arts and in more classical percussion, where my ensemble and I placed seventh in the world in 2016.
I think part of the reason why music is so important to me is my ability to see it. Synesthesia, or the mixing up of senses in my brain that causes the melding of visual and auditory stimuli, allows me to visualize the music I hear and produce through sight as well as sound. Being able to “see” music is a tool I can use to decipher the riddle of emotion and storytelling that music fundamentally is. I never leave home without at least one instrument to make music with. Along with a snow scraper and a frisbee, there is always an mbira in my car with me, just in case of musical emergencies.
I firmly believe that if more people played music, whatever the instrument, the world would be a better place. There is no more centralized, universal language than music. It simply does not matter where you are from and the ideals of your culture– music is a fundamental language of the human emotion and condition. If we all had the ability to communicate with each other through such a profound medium, we could become more connected. This I believe.
Anonymous I believe in leaving a legacy. Leaving a legacy and achieving fame are two very different things. Leaving a legacy is making an impact on humanity. A legacy is something people remember forever. Fame is personal benefit for money, or so called “happiness”. Fame is like a slippery ridge. If you step one foot over the side, you fall to your death. Legacy is like a tunnel, it has one path; one path to make a difference. Legacy is for other people. Fame is for the self.
Fame is said to provide a luxurious life and “happiness” but is inherently bad. It does no beneficial service to an individual or humanity. For instance, going way back, Michael Jackson was the pop super star, the famous black singer who immersed himself into the world of entertainment. Unfortunately not knowing what to do with his ample amounts of money, he decided to have surgery on his face. Not for any medical reason but to become white! Its ridiculous what fame can do to a person. Even with so much money and power, MJ felt he needed to be “better”. Later he was found overdosed on drugs. Fame comes with a desire to be the best. Heath ledger the Australian actor who plays the Joker in the Dark Knight died of overdose of painkillers and other prescription drugs. John Lennon the outspoken singer of the Beatles and peace activist was shot four times and barely survived. Like these people there are thousands of famous men and women who have died as a result of fame.
Inspired by Albert Einstein, Warren Buffet, and Ralph Waldo Emerson, I believe in leaving a legacy. Becoming a legend is honorable as it proves to be inherently good. Legacy comes in many different levels and ways. As long as you impact the human race or a human community, or even a single human in a good way, you have left your legacy in their minds. Helping another person live a portion, even a small portion of their lives better, makes an impact. By trying to leave a legacy, prompts an individual to try harder to achieve something that is inherently good. If every single person pitched in to help our world develop, leaving a legacy, society would be far better off. People around you might think you are just another person they share this world with. Leaving a legacy means making those same people live the rest of their lives thinking, “what a great person he was.” A legacy is about leaving something behind for others to benefit from.
The one and only thing that makes an individual special or unique when they die, is their legacy. When someone dies the only thing that is remembered of him or her is his or her legacy. What difference did they make? A life worth living is a life worth remembering. I am a believer in the power of leaving a legacy, one that isn’t associated with fame or recognition but remembrance and value.
Stephen Griffith The Absence and Presence of Conscious Humans are obsessed with death. It is the only force in nature that can destroy what makes us unique, rendering us all identical as bones. With it comes questions that only the dead can answer, and whether the dead exist past their mortal lives, or conscience fades completely to nothing, the dead know. We are unique creatures, conscious of the world around us, acting not just on instinct as most animals do, but on thought and conscience. From what we know, no being rivals our intellect, creativity, or sense of community; the God written about in religion is us; we are Him.
Religion provides security and an answer to the unknown: what happens when we die? Whether it be an afterlife or reincarnation, religion tells us we don’t die, that death is obsolete because we’ll still be “there.” As a child I welcomed this idea, felt safe by it, but as I grew older a question followed me like a shadow, waiting to find its way into my mind. Then why are we still afraid of death? Why do we still avoid it? The paradox brings me discomfort, because I see its truth, its revealing nature. Maybe we avoid it out of animalistic instinct, or maybe, more morbidly but realistically, we avoid it because it truly is the end. Maybe death is complete nothingness, just an endless sleep that continues for eternity. Except I refuse to believe so.
I’ve never been a religious person. I’ve never taken seriously the idea of God or Heaven or Hell. To me they just seem like stories, stories used for hundreds of years to instill fear into people in the effort to gain power. Furthermore, I’ve always been more fascinated by the complexities of physics, biology, and chemistry. However, I do find it strange to think about what came before the first moment of consciousness. When I try to think, there’s just darkness, but what’s funny are the billions of years that passed by that felt like nothing. The truth is, I know nothing about what came before me, so the world that begins with the first memory I have is my universe, everything that I know. However, in those billions of years exists the blind luck of my ancestors marrying the right person that has led to me, and here I am typing on a computer trying to unravel why I am here.
To me, the saying “everyone has a purpose” is too cliché, because I don’t find that to be the truth. While each individual may not have a purpose, I believe humans as a collective species do indeed. In a rather lifeless, scary universe, somehow we exist, somehow we consciously look at the stars and try to determine our place in them. The presence of a conscious mind is extraordinary; atoms, which are not conscious, somehow create consciousness, and to me that’s just strange but funny as well. I firmly believe that the universe’s true state is not the dead, cold place that we see through photos, but instead it is conscious. It needed something to be able to look at itself through, and that is our purpose. Since we come from the universe, we are essentially the universe, therefore, we are a mirror, an object through which the universe can reflect upon itself. But still, what happens when we die? I truly don’t know, nor do I have any idea. All I know is that if our conscious mind was needed so badly that it was created, death can’t stop it; somehow our conscience will remain. But to dwell on the idea of death is to not live. I choose to live.
Anonymous
Life is not Inevitable The last time I looked up at the stars, I thought about the immensity of the universe and how small each one of us is in the grand scheme of things I thought about how beautiful the stars were and how sad it was that most of them were already dead I thought about how it doesn’t matter if you are a small teenaged girl or a giant ball of gas and light death in inevitable
But life is not
I believe that in order to live, to really live, you must go out and experience things You must meet people You must learn You must fail, and then try again You must love people and places and foods and songs And I believe that none of this can happen by mistake In order to truly live, you must go out and do these things deliberately
Anonymous
Sports have played a huge role in my childhood and have shaped who I am today. Since I could walk, I was competing in athletics. The key word to me is competing. I believe that competition is a healthy and important aspect of everyday life. I loved to play sports because I got to compete against others.
Sports were a way that I was able to compete. I participated in all kinds of sports when I was little, whether it be soccer, baseball, basketball, or lacrosse. I enjoyed being on teams and learning life lessons from a young age. I experienced how great it felt to win, now awful it felt to lose, and the power of teamwork. My best memories were of playing baseball and winning tournaments after long weekends in the sun.
Competition was at the heart of all of these memories. The reason that I believe competition is so important is because it pushed me to bring the best out in myself. I spent countless hours practicing to get better at athletics (mainly baseball) and found that I enjoyed the hard work and dedication that led to success.
Competition has brought the best out in me and pushed me to reach my potential, not only in athletics but more importantly in other aspects of life, such as school. I know what it means to work hard and to achieve goals as a result. For me, it has been sports that have been my source of competition and have taught me how to compete in other aspects of life.
Sports are not the only source of competition however. Competition can be found everywhere. Additionally, competition does not have to be limited to competition with others, but can be competition with oneself. One person may choose to compete in football against the opposing team and another person may choose to compete against themselves by challenging themselves academically in a difficult class. Both people are working to become better at something.
Finding ways to compete throughout life is healthy and vital to success. Competition nurtures growth and helps individuals reach their potential. This, I believe.
Anonymous
I believe in revenge. Not the bitter, destructive kind where you burn someone's house down or put superglue on the door handle of their car, but I believe that the best revenge is bettering yourself in every way.
The word revenge gets a dirty name; it comes with angry and spiteful connotations. Though I understand why it is the way it is, I believe that the best kind of revenge doesn’t have to be like that. It would be a lie if I said that I have never thought about slashing someone’s tires or throwing rotten blue cheese down the window well of someone who has done me wrong. It would also be a lie if you said you hadn’t thought of doing things like that as well. And the truth is, it’s normal to think thoughts like that, to want to somehow hurt the person who hurt you. Almost everyone has been betrayed and hurt by someone. Whether that person is someone who you aren’t close with or someone who you love, we have all been there. Slowly, life begins to show you that it isn’t all happy days and not everyone is going to treat you with the same respect that you treat them. It’s so easy to get caught up in what’s gone wrong and secretly plot in your head how to get back at people. But once you realize that the best revenge is becoming a better you, things start looking up.
I’ve spent a lot of my life being angry at people who hurt me and did me wrong. What hurt the most is that people who I loved and cared about would do things to me over and over again that I knew I would and could never do to them. How could these people who I thought cared about me do things they knew would upset me? I used to sit and wonder what I could do back to them so they could feel the same way I did. After a little bit of growing up, I realized that I could never be the type of person to intentionally hurt someone with the sole purpose of seeking revenge. As cheesy as it sounds, two wrongs literally never make a right and karma truly does exist. Once I stopped worrying about what I could do to make someone else’s life worse, I started thinking about what I could do to become a better version of myself. It takes time, and a lot of self reflecting, but you start to realize who you are and what you need to be happy. You realize the mistakes that you made and the ways you hurt other people, and it helps you grow into someone better. You surround yourself with better people, you find out where your passions lie, you laugh a little harder, and most importantly, you learn from your past.
I can’t tell you that I’m never going to think about slashing someone’s tires ever again, because I can guarantee that I will. But now I know that the best revenge isn’t about hurting someone because they hurt you, it’s about learning from the experience and using it to grow. And once you’ve grown a little, you realize that bettering yourself wasn’t about proving someone else wrong, it was about proving to yourself that you are capable and deserving of better things.
Emma Clark
I believe that it is not our circumstances that make up who we are, it is what we chose to do with that circumstance that makes us who we. Throughout my life, I have know people of many different backgrounds. Now keep in mind, I have grown up in Boulder, Colorado so my exposure to diversity can only be so great, I know that there is a lot more variety of circumstance in the world than I have seen, but I feel as though I have seen enough to believe in this.
I am not going to lie, I have had a good life overall. I have been given amazing opportunities, always been taken care of and more, and I have a family that loves and supports me. With that said, my life has been no means perfect. My father passed away when I was young and I was raised by a single mother. I got in a horrible car accident when I was in middle school that should have left my mom and I dead. Everyone survived but our dog ran away and after months of searching we had to give up. My freshman year of high school right after moving to a brand new school with brand new people, my town was hit by a flood. We were trapped for days without any water or power or gas. When we got out, we had to live away from home for months and even though we've been home for a long time, the damage is still evident everywhere throughout our town. But I have decided that this is not my story, this is not who I am. These are some unfortunate events that I have lived through, but that's not me. My story is my family and my love for them. It is my love for dance and the 12 years I spent doing what I love with all my heart. I have decided that that's my story and that that is what makes me who I am.
I have met people who have horrible stories and have let that make their lives fall apart. I have met people who have horrible stories and are some of the most incredible people I know. I see people who have lived horrible lives and turned out to be some of the most prominent figures in our world. That is what I aspire to. That ability to overcome and to achieve under any circumstance. That is what I think is important. Those people do not let their past define them. They fight against it and become stronger. I believe that you should make the most of life and to do that you have to take your past and let it make you stronger, but not let it define you. That is why I believe you must be in control of your past experience and who you because.
Cooper Lajeunesse
Before entering high school I painted a picture of how my life would be by senior year: brush strokes of eccentric blue dance moves, polka-dotted lilac kisses, lemon candy striped memories.
Unfortunately, my horrific painting skills aligned perfectly with reality, for life paints most messily. Through the whirlwind of this year, I let my painting turn into a blob of brown sludge as my previous ideas of happiness blurred into the background. Any aspiration I held dearly and any dream I attempted to grow into a star and any bee I tried to let fly unharmed all vanished into the blob of my painting. In August, I walked into high school determined to be the lead in the musical and the play, to graduate with all A’s, to be the president of Excalibur choir, to join the National Honor Society, to be in a committed relationship, to attend the “best” college, to contribute to and leave a school that was better than when I had entered. This perfect painting perpetually filled my mind and I held it to the highest standard. I felt so indebted to these ideals as the only way to find happiness.
Yet, as fate might have it, life often turns a blind eye to our dreams, even when we yell them from a mountain top. I was neither a lead in the musical or the play and I don’t have all A’s. I am not a president of Excalibur or a member of NHS, and I have had pretty constant bad luck with both boys and girls. These dreams, gigantic in the eyes of a high school student, were all I had to hold onto. Yet each and every one blurred into brown.
One day, when the weight of the world on my shoulders was exceptionally heavy, I scrapped all the sludge off the canvas of my life. The brown blob fell off. So did the blue brush strokes. So did the polkadotted lilac. So did the lemon stripes. Underneath, hidden from my view, was the most breath--taking painting I had ever seen. I planned none of what I saw; I saw nothing I had planned to see. While I was preoccupied with creating a “perfect” painting, my life had worked on a painting of its own-- a painting that I didn’t plan, but was exactly perfect in its honest form.
The truth of the matter is everything always works out for the highest good. The ups and downs of my life have only led me toward something beautiful. Even when my dreams and goals seem to fall and plunder into the dark abyss, what I need right now is always present.
Occasionally, after the hardest of the times (it took months--or possibly years) I realized that what had actually occurred contained the lesson I was supposed to learn and the truth I was supposed to tell.
I was never the lead in a show, but so what? I took every opportunity to grow and become the best I could be. I made lifelong friendships and memories. I wasn’t the president of Excalibur, but so what? That did not inhibit me from loving each member as a true friend or from befriending the underclassman and teaching them what little I have learned. College worked out quite nicely for me, which goes to show that some occasional dreams do come true. My life has worked out thus far exactly as it was supposed to. I am heading in the direction I want to in life, and I am confident that every step I have taken to get here, every slip and stumble, happened exactly that way for a reason.
Here is my truth: You are exceptional. You are loved. You are the top of the universe. Everything always works out. This, I believe.
Elyssa Hofgard This year and years past, I have gone through many of my days with my eyes downcast, fixed on what I must do. In this hailstorm of grades and college, it is easy to forget what truly matters. I have been rude towards my friends, snapped at my mother, and yelled at my brother. At times, I have only thought of the next test that I need to ace, the score that I need to get on the ACT or SAT. At times, I have struggled to put things in perspective. I know that I am not alone in this, that this feeling of drowning, of being consumed by stress, is not unique to me. Yet somehow the thought that I am not alone does little to assuage my fears, of not amounting to anything, of falling short of what I know I can achieve. The pressure seems to be endless, and at times I can quiet its roar. I look around and see my friends, with whom I have laughed endlessly. I look at my parents, whose support I am eternally grateful for. I look at this place, the mountains dappled in purple and green, the red-orange aspen trees waving, the softly falling snow, and I know that I am blessed. I stop, take a deep breath, look around and take it all in. In the end, what else can we do? We can worry our lives away, forever thinking about what we have to do and what we will do. Or, we can appreciate what is around us, and know that there is something to be grateful for. We can know that in a year, or even in a couple of days, things will work out. For even doors that close can be doors that can open to new possibilities. I believe that we are the meaning that we assign to ourselves and to those around us. We can allow ourselves to be defined by our failures, by our stress, and by all that we still have to accomplish. Or, we can allow ourselves to cherish the moment, to cherish the process even if it might lead to what we see as failure. We can be thankful for those around us. Even in our darkest days, we can find something to be thankful for, even if it is simply having a roof over our heads. I know that stress is a natural part of life, and that we all feel stressed at times. However, we must learn to put things in perspective and to cherish the moment. We cannot allow ourselves to be defined by outside factors. Instead, we define the qualities and actions that give meaning to ourselves. For in the end, we are all blessed, to simply be alive. We are not necessarily blessed by a God who may or may not exist. Instead, we bless ourselves by choosing what lends meaning to our lives. I believe that we can define ourselves. To do this, we must stop and put things in perspective. We must be thankful for the opportunities we have been given, the opportunities that we have made, and both the opportunities and failures yet to come. For, in the end, this is what it means to be alive. This I believe.
William Sun
“Beating the market? It’s impossible.” Soon after finding my passion in the world of business and the financial markets, I came across these words. I had been excitedly learning about investments, IPOs, and innovation only to come across a common theory that stock picking is a fruitless endeavor. That idea was the efficient markets hypothesis. Little did I know that this once obscure financial economics theory would eventually provide the inspiration for my view of the world. The first proposition of the efficient markets hypothesis is that asset prices always incorporate and reflect all available information. For example, the price of Apple stock is determined by millions of buyers and sellers acting on information ranging from recent revenues to Tim Cook’s level of confidence at the company conference. The efficient markets hypothesis concludes that it is impossible to consistently outperform the overall market through skill alone because asset prices are always priced 100 percent accurately. I had my suspicions of this pervasively believed yet highly controversial theory from the start. What about Warren Buffett? I pondered. He had consistently outperformed the market for decades by identifying undervalued companies through looking at income statements and balance sheets, information that everyone had access to. What about the 2008 financial crisis? How could have prices diverged so far from reality if the markets were truly efficient? Over the next few years I tested the hypothesis. I bought and sold, all while observing events in the market that made the hypothesis seem absurd. I witnessed whipsaws in prices driven purely by mania. I found correlations that could predict price movements with an uncanny ability. While it became clear that the market was a well-oiled machine, it became even more clear that sometimes, it was wrong. I saw it during Brexit, the Chinese “circuit-breaker” triggering crash, and the 2016 election. But most importantly I saw it in myself: I, like the rest of the market’s participants, was human. I was fallible. I didn’t always interpret the information in front of me correctly. I realized that while there may be an enormous amount of information in the world, what really matters is how we perceive that information. I realized that we don’t have perfect knowledge. Instead, we have imperfect perceptions. That’s why the efficient markets hypothesis is wrong. Prices reflect perceptions of information, not information itself. Upon this revelation, I looked back at the questions I had when I first encountered the efficient `markets hypothesis. I realized that Warren Buffett looked at the same information as everyone else, but he consistently perceived that information differently. Within the numbers, he saw a bargain when others didn’t. I also realized that the distorted prices prior to the global financial crisis were the result of incorrect perceptions. We used to think that leeches could cure every disease, that smoking is good for our throats, and that the earth is flat. Our perceptions are, and never have been, perfect. But that should inspire us. I know it inspires me. For if we had perfect knowledge we would never invent, theorize, or learn. Without imperfect perception there would be no room for creativity. There would be no potential for progress. The world runs on ingenuity, whether through the invention of sliced bread or string theory. The efficient markets hypothesis originally taught me about finance. Several years later, it inspired my core belief. The two things that propels prices are also the two things that propel human progress: the discovery of new information and changes in how we perceive current information. Being part of that progress is a worthwhile purpose, and it isn’t as daunting as you might think. You can and you should challenge conventional wisdom. You can and you should search for revolutionary ideas. You just have to have the courage to look.
Laya Krishnan
Thoughts.
We hold the power to evaluate, and to assign value to things. Nothing, in reality, means anything if we don't hold it to some level of worth. It's all imagined and sustained by us. Funny though, that we let the power we give to a thing yield power over us. To reflect that same degree of intensity back towards us, trapping us within the bars of the cage constructed of our own beliefs. Fundamental Attribution Error.
School puts these immense amounts of pressure on each student, and these four years are literally spent underground, in the absence of sunlight, as we transform into the adults that we will be as we enter the world. But whether we emerge as diamonds, crafted by pressure to glisten with resilience, or coal, charred by every jostle we took, depends on us. Or...maybe it truly is out of our hands. Controlled by a power of which our minds cannot even begin to comprehend...life as we [don't] know it. An Elmer's Glue of solutions to a problem fraying at the edges, softening at the seams. Not cement. Not permanent. Identity can dissolve and evaporate not before your eyes, but right under your rose. Its elusiveness is what keeps it worthwhile, and so sought after.
You can never fully describe a person...a human being. With all of its intricacies, eccentricities, and whirlwind of emotions wrapped into a satin silk cover of oblivion. You can never capture that essence, no matter how many words you use. Not matter how many languages or expressions you apply. A person simply is. An existence. And you are you, and that is truer than true….Dr. Seuss said some shit like that once, we were reading words of wisdom back in first grade.
If a tree falls, and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? Well, is sound subjective? Or objective? Does it exist as an entity separate and independent from the human sense of hearing? Or is it merely vibration, just like light? You wouldn't ever say, wow, the sun is really loud today, would you? And similarly, is morality rational? Is rationality logical? And even then, is rationality subjective? Is every aspect of our world dependent on whether or not we believe it? Whether or not we accept it? What kind of world is it, if it's only filled with the things we want to hear, the things we want to see, and the things we want to feel? Reality does not create personalized boxes of life to accommodate our desires. It's not a five star hotel. It's a crappy two and a half star motel at best, where you have to pay extra for mildly stained sheets to replace the extra stained ones, where you got lucky if your room came with unbolted furniture to squash the cockroaches with, where the water is always colored. As are we. Ironic? Maybe.
There's a serious lackluster to life in not knowing who is truly living it.
Renee Wright Living. When you think about the word living, it seems so simple. It simply means you are able to breathe. However, in our society, we seem to not be able to live at all. We are constantly staring at our phones, unaware of the world around us. When outside, sitting in front of the beautiful flatirons in Boulder, Colorado, we snapchat our friend who is getting ice cream at Sweet Cow. We go through high school not knowing how blessed we are to live in one of the most beautiful places on earth. The only time that we are not on our phones, we seem to be fully consumed in stress, anxiety, and unhappiness. These horrible feelings are unfortunately not our fault, but perhaps the fault of the society in which we have grown up--one in which every person is required to live up to standards. Standards of how one’s body should look. Standards of how smart someone should be. Standards of sexual identity and orientation. Standards of how many extracurricular activities one should do in high school. Standards of being the best tennis player, the fastest swimmer, or the strongest wrestler. It seems ironic that these standards of living cause us to not be able to live at all. While trying to achieve the “perfection,” we forget to take a look at the world around us and enjoy the beauty. We forget to appreciate the friends that call us at 2 a.m. to comfort us in hard times. We forget to thank the teachers who stay extra hours to help us understand a subject. We forget to comfort our friends who are going through hard times. We forget to take off our shoes and put our feet in the creek. We forget to laugh, smile, cry, frown, and feel every emotion that consumes us. We forget to live. This, I believe.
Soren Kloepfer One thing that I value is having a center to come back to. A few weeks ago as I was thinking about this, an image came to me. It was a sparrow in a Hurricane. The eye of the hurricane was in the center of the sparrow. I realized that I am that very sparrow and what is important to me is that eye or the center. I believe in purpose. Purpose can mean many different things in life. It can mean purpose in what you do, purpose in what you don't do, purpose in being. The value that I hold true is having a center to go back to. Now more than ever it is important that we have core beliefs when our physical home or center is shifting. Our homes are shifting as we move to college or elsewhere the solid home that we have lived in is changing. Our parents might sell that house and move now that we are gone or maybe we'll be too busy. My "Home" is more than just being the place where I live. When I moved schools in eighth grade there was a purpose. When I joined rowing there was some purpose I didn't know yet. When I experienced loss of my grandmother there was a purpose there too. And when I shared this piece there was also a purpose. As I was writing for AMFAS I described myself as purposeful or maybe multifaceted is the word that I used. This is due to different purposes in life. I don't know what the purpose is specifically but I know that there is and always will be a purpose to my life and that is the eye of the hurricane that I can keep to myself. The eye of the hurricane is what my safe spot is and where I will always come back to when I waver in my belief in purpose. I'm not religious but I believe that everything, every act, every movement in life has an inherent purpose to it. Why would things happen if there was not a purpose? Why would the weird mixture of things that had to happen for us to exist happen if not for purpose? Why would our experiences be what they are without some sort of purpose? The one thing I believe is that everything has a purpose. Even when everything else is chaotic I know that there is a reason and this allows me to come back to a peaceful center(The eye of the hurricane in a certain sense).
Molly Madden “Hey you!” I whirl around to see a weathered face walking towards me, cigarette bobbing from his thin lips, eyes narrowed. “You can't ride that, it’s too narrow!” I look up from the bike path at the very flat, very wide, very smooth dirt trail the construction workers had generously provided for cyclists and scoff. Understanding this man is just doing his job, I obey his request. Once out of earshot, I let out a laugh of disbelief. Rather than telling me that I shouldn't ride the trail due to safety hazards, the man remarked that he didn't believe I had the capability to ride my bike across the trail. If only that man could see what I actually train on. My definition of a trail is completely different than that of an average person. My trail defies the norm. When people see rocks, roots, and roadblocks, I see opportunity to strive to get better. I live for the thrill of wind, (and bugs) in my face and the playful nature of a mountain bike on singletrack. Everyday stress evaporates the second my wheels touch the ground, and I am free to be myself, despite societal expectations. I grew up riding my bike with lots of different people on very diverse trails. People have varying viewpoints on what the definition of a trail is. As a girl growing up in a male dominated sport, I have experienced two different types of trails: one that includes me walking along the “too narrow” trails, and another that gives me legs that feel like bricks, a sore throat, chapped lips, and mud splattered everywhere. That is what is so amazing about the sport of mountain biking. It has changed my perspective on what is possible. Three years ago, I would’ve laughed at the thought of riding my bike for eight hours across mountain ranges, yet that has now become a weekly occurrence. I believe that without challenging each individual person’s definition of a trail, progress won’t be made. This realization has become so strong that now I have to know what is over the next hill and around the next turn – something people like the construction worker would never understand. See, although the construction worker's comfort zone might end at the concrete, mine starts on the dirt.
Anonymous
A letter to who I was and who I will be,
When you were 17 and flirting with freedom and wide-eyed with a mixture of terror and excitement for the future you now live, you believed in imagination‒in the play house of fantasy which became your asylum. From childhood we‒you and I and me and whoever else we have ever been‒were nursed on books and songs, nourished by a diet of games and fantasy. It was a world mom built the bridge for, but it was our Terebithia, wasn't it? You've believed in imagination for as long as I can remember, from when we first heard the recording of Disney's voice saying, "it was all started by a mouse," to the worlds we brought to life with a single thought.
I want to remind you that imagination is not for little kids. How the game mom played with us and our brother, of trolls chasing us on our quest to retrieve the gold (whole wheat bread) from their lair (the general store) felt so enormously vital, so you had better not dare mock it now. How the hours spent listening to the breeze of mom's voice kindle stories for us sparked a candle in our heart that I hope you haven't put out. I want to remind you that there's this one secret you discovered when you were little and locked away in the box labeled naive: imagination will sustain you. When the shower water runs cold, when the walls are bare, when your heart's a tsunami that rends your ribs, when nothing and everything turns out the way you thought, hoped, feared - imagination is the life blood you were raised on, and it will sustain you. I can't expect you to stay who I am, but I want to remind you that one day, maybe a long time ago, maybe it feels like a second, you were me, 17, flirting with freedom and wide-eyed with a mixture of terror and excitement for the future, imagining you reading this, imagining you. You were once someone's fantasy. I'm imagining you‒here, now, then‒and I believe in imagination.