Metamorphosis 101 ("Everything is okay.")

A couple weeks ago, I found out Fall Out Boy has a new single and their new album is coming out in May, and the giddy little fangirl inside me started freaking out. Immediately, I hopped over to YouTube to check out their new single, "My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark (Light Em Up)." Here's the video if you haven't seen it yet. (You don't have to watch it; I know it's Fall Out Boy.)

The video basically makes a big production of the whole process of lighting Fall Out Boy's old music on fire. The fire is obviously a symbol of purification and new life, sending the message that the band wants to reignite their career without being tied down to any of their past work. They want us to know they've changed.

Here's another band that used fire as a symbol of change, and you have to watch this video because it's my favorite band and because it's not just a music video.

This one is a little bit more intricate, even if it is a couple years older. Here we see others getting excited about the change, saying things like, "I can't wait to leave here," and, "It's going to be so much better there." They're excited about what's going to happen, but some of them are unsure of what to take with them and what to leave behind.

And then they face some obstacles on the way out of town, and one of those is a wall of fire. Brendon and Spencer quickly realize they can't continue with their baggage weighing them down, but the others can't find the strength to let go. Only Brendon and Spencer have the courage to leave it all behind and face the fires of change.

I think we can relate to the others in the video. Change sounds exciting at first, but you really want me to leave my whole life behind? "It's easy, just drop it," says Brendon. But it isn't easy.

There's a movie I recently fell in love with called Liberal Arts and it contains a scene that really sums up the experience of change. Zac Efron's character shows up and offers some philosophical insight in the form of a parable about caterpillars. To paraphrase, what happens is that suddenly these cells appear in the caterpillar, called imaginal cells, and they start to tell the caterpillar it's butterfly time. Because these cells are different, the caterpillar's immune system attacks. But they keep showing up, and the caterpillar's immune system can't fight them off. They take over, and the coolest thing happens: the caterpillar becomes a butterfly. And isn't that so much better than being a caterpillar forever? "Everything is okay," says Efron.

The story about the caterpillar has stuck with me for the last couple of weeks because I'm in a season of change. I'm a senior in college, and that means something big is coming, but I don't know what that is. I'll probably do what I can to fight this change, like the caterpillar fights the imaginal cells, like the characters in "The Overture" fight to keep their things. But the caterpillar has no way of knowing it's going to become something as amazing as a butterfly, and I don't know who or what I'm going to become.

All I know is, fire can be destructive, but it makes way for new life. All I know is, change is scary, but it works out for caterpillars. So for the next couple months, I have to keep telling myself, "Everything is okay." I can't see what's ahead, but that doesn't mean it isn't beautiful.

Myself 101

It's crazy how much you can learn about yourself just from writing things down. Today I found a folder in my documents titled "Personal Journals" and I thought it would be fun to explore some of my thoughts from two years ago. It was insane. There were things I wrote about that I definitely remember happening but completely forgot I had them documented. There were thoughts that, when I look back at them, seem entirely crazy to me, and others that still make perfect sense or still ring true, such as "I'm always afraid of something." And, best of all, in the middle of a rant about why I wasn't looking forward to Valentine's Day, there was this, "THEY ALWAYS GO THROUGH THAT DOOR. THEY HAVE TO OPEN THAT DOOR. AND THEN THE STUPID THING NEVER SHUTS UP ALWAYS CREAKING CREAKING CREAKING NEVER CEASING CREAKING CREAKING CREAKING."

Yeah. That's me as a college freshman.

So I learned some things about myself tonight, including that I really have grown. That's a thing that's really nice to know.

Yet Another Snow Day

I haven't done a thing today because they cancelled classes again due to snow. I feel like a lazy American because that's what I am.

Actually, I helped some people dig their cars out of snow earlier and that felt pretty good. That felt like purpose, like I had discovered the meaning of life.

But then I didn't get any academic work done, so I'm mad at myself.

This is why I can't be in a relationship right now. Because the other person would always have to say, "No, you are worth something," and I'd be like, "No really, look at what I've done." And then they'd just be really frustrated that I would never get it, and we'd both be unhappy.

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Identity 101

It's my senior year in college, so now I'm more anxious than ever before about not knowing who I am, whatever that means. Sometimes I think it's because I'm always so connected to other people that I don't get enough time to be a person all on my own. That might be partially true, but I also know it's okay to be influenced by others, so that's not the whole issue.

It's my senior year in college, so I'm closer than ever before to being thrust into the real world, whatever that is. It's time to start looking for jobs, start really living on my own, stop eating nearly all of my meals in a cafeteria. I'm not sure where I'm going or what I'm doing or if I will even find a job, but that's not the worst part. The worst part is, I don't even know what I want to do or where I want to be.

I'm an English major. What do you do with that? If I were an education major, I'd become a teacher. If I were an engineering major, I'd become an engineer. If I were a nursing major, I could be a nurse. I'm an English major. It's so open-ended. I have options to consider and decisions to make. Have I mentioned yet that I'm terrified?

I have felt for several years now that I'm a little different from what I consider to be "most people." The way I see it, most everyone else is afraid of dying. Nobody really wants to believe their time on Earth will end one day, especially not young people like me who should have their whole lives ahead of them. Right? But I was kneeling at the alter one Sunday several years ago thinking about eternity and I thought, "Forever? Who wants to be around forever? Who really wants to never stop existing? Isn't that so much scarier than knowing we'll all die one day?" And I haven't reached the point of shaking that feeling yet. The difference between me and others is that I'm not exactly afraid of dying. I'm afraid of living.

Like I was telling a friend today, life seems like so much more of a risk than death. To me, death is more certain than life. Everyone knows we all die. It's the one thing that equalizes all of humanity; that no matter who you are and what you do in this life, you will end up in the grave. We all will. But what about life? Some people find happiness, like my parents and their unusually healthy marriage. Sure, my mom doesn't like her job, but she has a man who cares for her and that's not going to change. That's awesome, except that most people these days are getting divorced, and I definitely don't want that. I'm afraid of marriage because I don't know if I'll end up like my parents or like everyone else. And I haven't met anyone yet who makes me want to take that risk.

Of course, marriage isn't the only uncertainty in life. The other big one is career choices. I should probably try to tell myself I won't end up with my dream job right out of college and that's okay because I have time. But the truth is, I'm so afraid of life I can't allow myself to have a dream job. Any time I think of something that sounds fun, I tell myself, "That's not a reality. Pick a different dream." My first dream was to be an author, but the starving artist role doesn't really suit me. Then I dreamed of being an advice columnist for a newspaper, but I keep telling myself newspaper is dying. I thought about writing sitcoms, but I would hate to live in a big city like New York or L.A. Yuck. So now I'm supposed to be looking at my options, but I don't even know what I want. Because what if I put my heart into something and it doesn't turn out? If I don't decide what I want, I can't be disappointed when I don't get it.

But what if I don't decide what I want? Well, then I'll be stuck living with my parents and flipping burgers just to make a few bucks, struggling to pay off the loans I took out on an education I won't even be using. And that's my dilemma. If I know who I am and what I want, I could end up with a lot of disappointment in the end. But if I don't decide who I want to be, I'll never be anyone.

My identity crisis doesn't come from spending too much time around other people and letting them influence me. It comes from being afraid to know myself. Because if I know myself, I might not like myself. Because if I know myself, I might know my dreams, and I might not achieve them. Because if I know myself, I will have something to live for. And I can't think of anything more terrifying than wanting to live.