New year, new me. 

Being in college means constantly repeating the same script: I’m a senior nursing student. No, I won’t be staying in Vermont after graduation. I’ll move to a city; I’m ready to spread my wings. 

I internalized the script, expecting it to somehow make me feel more sure and secure, simply because I could recite both my reality and my plan. The script meant I fulfilled the part of the adult I claimed to be.  

I’m at this point where I feel overflowing passion and love for all the people and responsibilities in my life. A glowing appreciation for this present time should welcome me at every corner. 

But so far, the first three weeks of the school year have unfolded in a whirlwind.  

Emotions were high, assignments piled up and my ability to concentrate on school severely lagged. The start of school really marked the end of things: the days once again over-scheduled and repetitive. 

Everything was just too much. 

I expected to finally find peace with a full schedule and with myself, and that a sense of gratitude would throw a blanket over excessive stress.

Turns out that my seniority didn’t exempt me from feeling inferior when it came to the demands of life and the expectations I afflicted on myself. 

I really thought this year I’d finally be different, physically and emotionally. 

My time in college allowed the external structures in my life to shift three times a year, leaving me hopeful that I would feel like a completely refreshed version of myself with each new semester or season. 

I was hung up on this updated, unrecognizable Olivia. Always chasing this self-actualized version of myself who possesses the ability to balance a full life while emanating an air of ease and calm. 

I cut my hair, tried new skin products and set myself lofty goals, outlining productive habits in a since-untouched journal hoping that this time, I’d really be different. 

The consistent changes in college permitted me to hope that whenever I was tired with the old model, there would be an easy opportunity to snag a 2.0.  

In the shifting schedules, I could count on one thing: eventually I’d reach a breaking point and exist in despair until I outlined some cliché blueprint of a total remodel. 

This year, I equated senior year to a new page in my life, depicting the reality of finally having it all figured out. 

Upon reflecting, I had a major internal makeover over this past summer which I discussed in my last column. Travel, socializing and lively adventures really unearth a hidden confidence and zest for life.  

For some reason come Sept. 1, heartbroken and heavy, my summer evolution wasn’t enough for me. 

Old dissatisfaction crept in: my body too soft, my brain too squirrelly and any attempt at self-care was thrown out the window. My old friend insomnia paid an extended visit and I returned to half-assing my assignments, though inside I deeply cared about the content.   

The stress of a full schedule caused me to shrink, convincing me once again I was an outdated version of myself. 

Truthfully, the inferiority I feel never leaves, I always feel like I’m on the edge of everything falling apart. 

I reached my breaking point on the steps of Howe Library. I allowed a flood of tears and a call to my mom. After some tough love, I pulled myself together.   

It was time I reflected on my past as case studies illustrating the skills of adaptability and resilience that I’ve built, attributes that can’t be stolen away. 

Multiple new chapters occurred in the last three years, but it was only upon reflection that I realized how slowly this current version of myself compounded. 

I couldn’t be tuned up or deep cleaned like a car, all the facets of my life recalibrating at the same time. 

The recurring sickness I had with my own being wasn’t productive, it just left me empty. 

New year, new me. This is impossible. 

The external structures in my life only provided the basis for gathering experience and insight. They don’t provide levels to obtain or unlock; that all happens sluggishly with time. 

I realized all I can do is meet my world’s new chapters with acceptance rather than resistance. I can’t choose when a new season of life occurs. Change is a little too fluid to self-select.      

Roll with the changes, 

Olivia

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