The End of a Teenage Dream
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When I turned thirteen, I envisioned the next six years to be a whirlwind of excitement, chaos, and amusement. I blew out my candles with a single dream in mind; a dream implanted in me by the many rom-coms and Disney Channel Original Movies I watched. As I added each candle to my annual birthday cake, I grew skeptical of my dream and my life as a teenager. Everyone was a few steps ahead of me in almost every life-altering aspect. I always thought the tortoise was supposed to catch up to the rabbit, but I guess I disproved this antique assumption. Another candle, another slowly paced lap around the track. Now as I creep up on my twentieth candle, I finally see the finish line; I also see the rabbit on the other side. I followed and raced the track exactly as I was meant to, but why didn’t I win? What do all the other rabbits have that I don’t? At least, that’s what I thought at first.
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The Vulnerable Years
I think about the dream I had for my teenage experience as a thirteen-year-old and I smile, mainly because I had so much confidence back then and I admire that. At the time, I was secure with my friends, a group of theatre nerds who spoke of Dear Even Hansen as if it were the gospel. We shared secrets, obnoxiously sang Broadway at the top of our lungs, and cracked inside jokes that only we could understand. I felt secure and safe with them, I couldn’t picture anything better. I entered high school as a fourteen-year-old with the notion that we would conquer it together, but with every life change comes a shift in people too. I saw those friends turn into strangers, and isolation became a new acquaintance. I thought the teenage experience was supposed to be filled with excitement, but nobody warned me about the pain. Every insult, every remark, and every stare felt like tiny, yet excruciating needles being poked around my body. These strangers, at the time, became enemies. I felt revengeful and spiteful, and wanted nothing more but for them to experience my pain. I cried with severe force and begged to be left alone until I was. My early teenage years, while filled with angst and immense turmoil, taught me one significant lesson: never forgive those who hurt, and never forget. As I continued to grow, I forgave myself for what happened in the past, but not those who betrayed me. I remember what they said, what they did, and how they made me feel. I used to believe every word because when you’re repeatedly told you’re crazy, eventually you are. I viewed vulnerability as my greatest enemy, but now I see it as something sacred. I’ve learned that closure doesn’t come from those who hurt you but from yourself. It took me until I turned sixteen to realize this, but as a tortoise, perception takes a while too.
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The Treasured Years
My fifteenth candle marked a transformation as I completely scrapped what I knew and found safe. My love for performing grew thin as the environment I once loved tarnished itself. I found other outlets, but the joy I once had with theater wasn’t the same. With one passion destroyed, another blossomed. I started to focus on finding new hobbies, such as trying out for the water polo team and taking a class on film and media studies. The more I delved into exploring new interests, the easier life got. I started forming a new circle of friends, all varying in personality and background. From sixteen to eighteen years old, I realized the change I feared most was what I needed the most. I’ve always been the kind of person who once I found a good seat, would sink into it. The unknown never fascinated me and I was never trying to find out, yet experiencing various changes, from the pandemic to meeting new people, I realized that life is unknown. I started to embrace new experiences and because of this, I was lucky enough to live through what are now very fond memories.
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The Tortoise and Her Dream
As I slowly inched to the finish line, I was able to watch each moment of my life carefully. I remember moments when I was deeply upset or extremely hurt and how significantly grave that feeling was. Now, those moments mean nothing, and I laugh at how seriously I took them. Many rabbits have passed by me, each with a new lesson to share or teach, and I’m thankful to have been beaten by them in this race we call “The Teenage Dream”. I used to view the ultimate teenage experience as something to compete for, as I saw others share or have moments that I never got. I now believe that none of it matters. I’m not going to say that the “dream” is a farce, but what I will conclude is that the dream is what you make of it. Sure, mine wasn’t exactly eventful, but I look back at every moment, the good and the bad, with extreme admiration. I forgive myself for every embarrassment and every tear that was shed. I learned from those times, and I’m thankful to have felt them then. The tortoise, despite what you’ve been told, doesn’t win the race, but at least she tried to run.
Strike Out,
Writer: Sophia Ferraro
Editor: Isabel Wilder
Tallahassee