Abigail in a Nutshell

by Abigail O, North Andover, USA, Age 17

There are many sentences, phrases and clichés I hope to never hear in my life. “You have a terminal disease,” is one of those sentences. But far worse than those five horrible words is a phrase that has been spoken to me many times before: “Let’s be realistic.” Now in all fairness I should say right now that I know many people who have led fairly happy, successful lives by being realistic. However, I also know many more people who are miserable in their careers and other aspects of their lives because they were always told to be realistic, and listened to that piece of advice. I’ve spent most of my life being told to “be realistic” and more than three quarters of my life actually doing it. I wasted so much energy trying to do everything the “right” way to please everyone around me but after years of unhappiness I adopted the mantra I now live by: “Be realistic? Let’s not and say we did!”

My parents have always been the type of people to live by the rules. My dad needs to be in control of everything or else he has a conniption and my mom has no qualms about making decisions for everyone in the family. My sister, Bryn, followed their guidelines and expectations without fail, while my brother, James, is happily following her lead. I am not saying I’m the hated rebel child and my siblings get all the attention, because I’m not, and they don’t. I get plenty of attention and it is obvious that my parents love all of us equally. I just always got the feeling, growing up, that I was not doing enough to measure up to my siblings. I was decent at basketball but I was not as into it as Bryn was into her cheerleading. I was a happy kid most of the time, but not as pleasant to be around as James was. I got good grades, but not as good as either of them. Still, my parents were hopeful that eventually all of that would change and I would be athletic, smart and perpetually pleasant. They knew that to get into college it is good to play sports to show you are well-rounded, and to get amazing grades was a must. College was evident for all of us because if we did not get in to college, then “let’s be realistic” (there it is again!) our lives would not be as good as it could be with a college degree. Deep down I always knew I would go on to some college and some job that would make me enough money to live a safe, secure life. But being the typical teenager I would constantly push my parents’ buttons and test them by saying, “I am not going to college! I don’t need to! I am going to have a job that doesn’t require a college education!” These jobs ranged from getting a book published (college is certainly helpful but not required) to modeling (Height? Check! Everything else? ...whoops). I was told time and time again to be realistic and try to get a degree in teaching or advertisement. Both are good careers but I know myself and I know I will not be completely happy with either job.

My parents just called it normal teenage angst but I knew something was not right. I needed to get a different opinion and different outlook on life. Who could I ask? “Maybe I am just not thinking about this the right way,” I thought to myself. Maybe a therapist would be helpful. They could uncover something in my childhood that really messed me up with my idea of realism. I had heard stories on Oprah about how childhood experiences really messed up some women. They could not find a husband because they did not trust men anymore, all because of their bad fathers. But honestly, I do not believe that. I believe anyone can change anytime they want to. If someone wants to get rid of bad feelings caused by something in his/her past then he/she can, with a little work.Besides, I had a great childhood. A weird childhood, but a great one nonetheless. To give an example of said weird childhood: While I had a bike, video games, a computer, Barbies and Beanie Babies, I would sit in the driveway with a big bucket of caterpillars and throw them weddings. Yes, weddings. To be fair, I was only four or five years old and my sister and neighbor were out there with me as well. We would collect about 100 caterpillars; pick them out of the bucket in pairs, one boy and one girl (like we could tell!), and give them a quickie wedding ceremony followed by a “honeymoon” (aka: throw them into the swamp together near our house). It was my bright idea to put a piece of tissue around the girls like a white wedding dress and color black chalk on the boys for a tuxedo. Now like I said, I had plenty of nice toys to play with and other things I could have been doing. But this activity appealed to me the most because I felt so bad for the caterpillars. I only saw them on the ground alone, never in pairs or groups. I felt like they were stuck in caterpillar bodies, probably the loneliest body to be trapped in, wishing they were born into something else. I did not know then that caterpillars turn into butterflies, a great aspiration in my mind, so when my mom told me that, I felt very light-hearted. However, my heart sank back down five minutes later when my sister told me I killed those caterpillars’ dreams when I colored on their backs with the chalk and clogged the pores they need to keep open, to survive.

I have never been able to just sit there and be okay when something or someone around me seems hopeless or without faith. I used to cry when I saw obese people in a restaurant not be able to squeeze into a booth and so then have to go, embarrassed, to a nearby table with movable chairs. It really upset me to hear that people, even murderers, were sent to prison for life, never being able to have a second chance. These types of things made me feel bad because I could not do anything about them. I could not make the booths bigger or give a convict another shot at life. They were trapped in the lives they had and were probably feeling like they should just give up hope, accept the life they have and be realistic. Or at least, that is how I saw it. And I identified with these people. Although I was not 400 pounds, a felon or a caterpillar, they were probably feeling hopeless just as I was.

When my sister came home from her first year of college last June, I asked her how she liked it and the business courses she was taking. She liked them fine and was really excited about preparing for her career as an accountant. Accountant? Was this the same girl that went away to college ready to get a Business Degree so she could open up a hair salon and a Cheerleading gym? It pained me to hear she had gone on to want a boring desk job that we had always made fun of as children. But what hurt me the most, like a knife to the heart, was when she said, “Come on Abby, did you really think I was going to do those things? Let’s be realistic.” I tried convincing her that yes she could do those things and it would be hard work but well worth it in the end, but she was stuck in her decision and my efforts were futile. I went to bed feeling thoroughly depressed and made a mental promise to myself to never, under any circumstances, go for the job that provides money but not happiness.

All of this may seem random and psychotic but I really cannot stand it when people settle into their seemingly tragic lives. Even if the person truly does not mind how things turned out for him/her, I think of how I would feel in their situation and I panic. I need hope and faith in my life or else I start to feel depressed, trapped and most of all helpless. I never want to get to a place in my life where I feel like there is nothing I can do to make things better or to make myself happier.

So deciding to make a change I began living the life I wanted to live. Regardless of how “out there” a dream of mine seems to be, I will still go for it. When I say I want to be the editor of “Seventeen” magazine, people say “Oh, that’s nice,” but it is easy to see that they are skeptical. Oh well, let them be skeptical, I say! I have come to realize that everyone feels differently about their own lives and the lives of others so someone that may appear tragic to myself, may actually be very happy with his own life. And someone who wants to be realistic and view my goals as absurd is just one more person I can call up and gloat to when I have accomplished all those “absurd” dreams! While all humans need water to survive, I would say I need faith and hope even more. But I like it that way, so go ahead and call me a dreamer, or unrealistic…I will reply with a meaningful, “Thank you!”