The Future
She’s seventeen, my daughter, just about to start the last half of her senior year, and she doesn’t know what she wants to “be” or “do.” Is that exciting or terrifying?
Both, I think — and also neither.
There’s a part of Lizzie, probably a part of most teens on the cusp of something they don’t understand the momentous cuspiness of, that is consumed with today: the boy who likes her, the essay she is writing, the new mascara she bought, the Xbox game she’s playing. She could squint into the future and maybe see something, but she’s not interested in squinting.
Every grown-up she encounters asks about her post-graduation plans. She’s polite, and vague. “Working, traveling, maybe taking some classes,” is what she usually says. If pressed, she has no plan. The only plan is: Get the hell out of high school.
Boy do I get that.
Although I did know what I wanted to “be” when I grew up (yes, a writer) and although by the end of my first semester senior year I had heard that I was accepted to the school I had my heart set on attending, I also was mostly and intensely motivated by the “get the hell out” directive.
There’s this moment – it comes to kids at different ages – when you realize just how constrained your life is, … just how little choice you exercise over what is important, just how few choices you get to make. Before this ah-ha moment, it’s not occurred to you that where you live, the school you attend, the food you eat, the rhythm of your daily life — not to mention the cultural, philosophical, political and economic air you breath — is mostly determined by others. You were born into an ongoing tale, and you assume your place in the story.
That’s good. It gives you the chance to be a kid. It gives you the chance to look around. And then, in the blink of an eye, it’s bad. It’s like jail. And all you can think about (if you’re a compliant, play-by-the-rules kid) is serving your time and getting out. That’s what the last semester of high school is all about: serving your time.
Tomorrow is the first day of Lizzie’s final semester in high school.
