It seems that from the time we're cognizant we are told we can be anything, capable of doing anything we worked hard for. Do ballet, take karate, become a teacher or lawyer or veterinarian. For me, a painfully shy child, that seemed like an amazing feat that I wasn't sure I could succeed at. As I grew up I found myself becoming more involved in different clubs, sports, and activities at school. However, I never really did all that I felt I was capable of or even all that I wanted to do.
Because I was so shy I couldn't talk myself into doing new things by myself, I needed the safety net that my friends provided. When they weren't interested I decided to brush off my inkling to try whatever it may have been. By the time I was able to talk myself into just sucking up my anxiety and doing it I faced a new mental wall: it was "too late" to get involved. (Oh, the lies we tell ourselves.)
During my transition into college, I promised myself one thing: I wouldn't allow myself to be the thing holding me back. At the end of my second year, I can confirm that I am more involved than I think I have ever been. From two on-campus jobs to my spot on a club sports team to a Senate position in student government, I have found ways to get involved, make friends, and have fun throughout my time on campus. Yet even as I found my place within these groups and these places, I felt restless.
Suddenly, the fact that I could be or do anything was simultaneously the best and worst thing to happen to me.
Through my further socialization and familiarization with campus and its offerings, I began to feel that the path I had created for myself wasn't all that it could be, or even what it should. I became all too familiar with the "too much gene" that I felt I had created throughout middle and high school.
This fictional gene took hold and I was just going along for the ride. I began to feel that whatever I did I would never be able to satisfy my need to do this, that, and the other thing. In fact, I became hyper-aware of the fact I would never be able to feasibly do everything my mind flagged on its interest inventory.
My main reasoning behind this, of course, was time. After overextending myself in the fall I felt that I was a disappointment to both myself and everyone around me. I couldn't stomach the idea of feeling that way again, so I reevaluated what I was doing and had a much better semester following it. My concerns with time didn't end there, though. I also found that whenever I felt strongly inclined to look into an org the meeting time would always coincide with practice or another commitment.
And just like that, I found my second reason: commitment. When I do something, I become fully invested and pour a bit of my soul into it. While I do this, I also take on a little mental burden that takes on a tone of accountability regarding my peers. The longer I stay involved, the bigger the burden that comes from the idea of ever letting my peers down. In reality, this is something of a sick joke on myself; my commitment to the things I was already involved in left me feeling helpless in my quest to try so many things. Despite this, I would still feel inclined to look into other organizations that I felt would offer me another view and perhaps positively impact my life. In what world would I ever win? Short answer: none.
Since my self-realization, I have been working on coming to terms with the idea of not being able to do everything I have felt a deep inclination towards. While it is a very slow progression with my "too much gene" always at the ready for the next idea, it is progress nonetheless. One day I will be content with what I have done and will continue to do in life. Until then, I'll continue to work on my biggest commitment to date: myself.
