Regrets

My life has taken a slight turn in a different direction, with me left to decide if it was for the better or worse.  And while I have yet to discover which, I know one thing for sure: I do know that I don't regret any of what happened. 

After all,

"Never regret anything that makes you smile" -Mark Twain

And I smiled a lot.  In fact, I have been smiling uncontrollably the last few days.  And so, even if other people tell me I made a mistake and even if I did, I will not regret. 

So when a friend of mine told me that he thought I had made a huge mistake and was surprised when I told him I had no regrets about it, I go to thinking about that small yet monumental word which could make or break our life.

Regrets.

They seem to follow us everywhere. 

'I should have done this.  I could have done that.  I wish I had never done this.  Why did I ever do that?'

But honestly, what is the point in regretting a moment or a word or a mistake when every single piece of our lives makes us who we are?  It is self-destructive to regret who we are, so:

Why do we regret?

Until someone finally invents a time machine that allows us to travel back in time and correct mistakes, regrets can only hurt us. 

And to the next person who tells me I should regret a moment that I am perfectly happy with, I can only say I feel sorry for you.  You have not reached the level of self-content I have reached.  I can only hope someday you do, and realize that

"As you grow older, you will find the only things you regret are the things you did not do" -Zachary Scott

I Have Returned

About two weeks ago, I opened my laptop, I clicked the search box, and I typed in almost automatically, "sixteenandcluelss.blogspot.com", as I do every day.

But my blog wasn't there.  The bright orange colors I had become so accoustomed to lighting up my screen never appeared, and I was only left with a succint message from Google notifying me that my blog had been deleted.  I had no idea why; there was no explanation or warning, no goodbye's or time to save any of my posts, just a non-existent blog where there once was a place for me to pour out my hopes and dreams.

At first, I was shocked.  And then, I was it with a blast of complete and utter sadness, confusion, hurt, and anger.  I had poured an endless amount of time into this blog, so much so that I even shed a few tears, devastated that what I had used so much energy for was gone in the blink of an eye.

It's been two weeks, and I had slowly come to terms with the fact that it was gone, it wasn't coming back.  However, I still hadn't quite given up, and so I checked every once and a while, and was always met with the same Google message that broke my heart.

Until yesterday.  I still have no idea how or why, but somehow my blog has come back to life and I can return to the writing I love so dearly. 

Does anyone have any idea why my blog was deleted?  I am extremely terrified of it happening again, of me losing all of this tremendous work in the blink of an eye, so I will be very careful from now on.  And thank you to all of you who are reading this blog- you should know that it is a part of me, an essential part that I hope to never lose again.

Question Number 12: Overachievement

o·ver·a·chieve [oh-ver-uh-cheev]

to perform better or achieve more than expected, especially by others.

The last few days, I have just been so very tired.

I know that I do too much to handle.  I take every opportunity, participating in everything available to me and more.  This wouldn't be so detrimental if I didn't push myself to the absolute breaking point in everything, no matter how seemingly insignifcant, as I attempt to reach that unnattainable goal: perfection.

My list of things to do seems to grow with each passing day-On top of my honors classes and National Honors Society, I run cross country, I swim competitively, I am in my school musical, I have an after-school job as a lifeguard, and I volunteer as a tutor.  Oh, and I am forgetting the most important activity, the one that I am constantly reminded is my main focus, the one takes up hours and hours of my time: I study.  A lot.  I study so much that I lose sleep.  Which brings me back to the ever-present fact that I am so very tired.

And while I love everything I do with all my heart and throw my entire being to each activity, I can't help but ask myself:

 

When does achievement become overachievement?  When does it all become too much to handle?

 

Many would say that "too much to handle" is the point when you wake with a start and find your face stuck in the glossy pages of a text book in the late hours of the night.  But instead of sleeping, you go right back to studying.  And yet, this is a scene that has taken place in my room too many times to count. 

 

Again, I cannot stress enough that I do all that I do because I love it.  However, it often becomes less enjoyable when I am trying so hard to be the best at it.  I always have been a little too competitive.  For me, perfection is the goal, and anything less is only acceptable.  I do this to myself; I am my biggest critic.  I only allow myself praise when I have reached that stage that seems as close to perfect as I will ever be.

 

Madonna once said, “I became an overachiever to get approval from the world”
In my case, I became an overachiever to get approval from myself.

Question Number 11: Painful Beauty

Today, I had an appointment to pierce my cartilage.

I did it because I love quirks; I love having qualities-however seemingly insignificant-that become part of who I am.  Also, I simply love the way it looks.

Yes, I will admit it was painful.  And for the next week or so, I will not be able to sleep with my pillow against my left ear.  And every time I push my hair behind my ear, it stings for a moment, reminding me of the new, tender hole in through my cartilage.

Is it worth it?  I think so.  I love it.  After all, beauty is often painful.  But the lingering pain forced me to ask myself a question:

Why do we inflict pain on ourselves to achieve 'beauty'?

I will be the first to admit that getting my eyebrows waxed may be one of the most miserable experiences imaginable- and yet I, along with millions of other women, have an appointment to do just that every other month.

Walking in heels could be considered torture for your feet- and yet for special occasions I shove my feet into the most uncomforatble shoes imaginable and walk with my head held high and my feet throbbing, tripping every other time I take a step. 

As women, many of us pluck, pull, remove, improve, and alter endless aspects of our appearances to achieve that ever-desired point: beauty.

Sometimes, I wonder what 'beauty' would be if we all simply crawled out of bed in the mornings and walked out the door.

Question Number 10: Truly Knowing Someone

“Sometimes you have to get to know someone really well to realize you're really strangers.” -Mary Tyler Moore

An elderly couple plods carefully around the streets of a bustling city, linking arms and smiling at each other every once and a while.  They have been married for 71 years.  It seems as though they have said everything they will ever need to say to each other, and so they walk silently.  But the silence isn't uncomfortable, it's filled with unspoken and implied words that they have already heard. 

Do these people know absolutely everything about each other?  

The simple answer would be yes-they have spent almost their entire lives together, shared their thoughts, their memories, and themselves.  However, is the realistic answer no? 

Is it possible to know everything about another person?

Even the people you are incredibly close to, the ones you can confide in about everything and know they can do the same-They must have some secrets, even if they aren't purposely kept a secret, right?  And then there are the secrets they do keep on purpose- after all, we all need a part of us that belongs to only us.

Each of us has our own inner thoughts and desires, ones that we might never share with any other human being.  Those secret thoughts that we keep covertly hidden beneath our exterior smile are part of who we are.  And if no one ever sees those unreachable thoughts, does anyone really know us?

Does the common saying "he/she knows me more than I know myself" have any truth to it?  Or is that an unreachable impossiblity?

Question Number 9: Defining Ourselves

“Care about what other people think and you will always be their prisoner.” ― Lao Tzu

The truth of this quote rings louder than I can comprehend.  So why is it so hard to live out in every day life?

I know I am not the only one out there who tries on an outfit for some special occassion and must first send a picture of it to a friend with the caption, "Does this look okay?" before I can actually wear it.  But if I like the outfit, if I think it looks okay, why do I need someone else's approval?

Have you ever noticed that a single sincere compliment suddenly makes your day seem that much better?  And yet in contrast, a snide or condescending remark from someone else forces all that self-confidence to fly out the window.  Of course, this is something I am constantly working on.  How many times have I heard advice from parents and peers, "It doesnt matter what other people think."  And I agree-I try every day to be my own person, define who I am by what I desire, not what others do. 

And yet, when someone says,

"You are beautiful"

 I believe them.  And suddenly I am soaring-I am beautiful.

But then, when someone says,

"I don't like you"

I am heartbroken, and I wonder dejectedley if anyone does.

Why do we define ourselves by how others see us?

I write an essay for Language Arts class that I have poured my heart and soul into, one that I spent hours perfecting and feel as if a part of me lies within the words.  And yet, I must wait for the "A" written on the top of the page in red pen before I can truly feel as if it was a success.

Hearing people say great things about me makes me smile uncontrollably, while rumors or critiscm hurt more than I could ever describe. 

However, with each passing day, I am beginning to feel more and more comfortable in my own skin.  I am starting to completely belive that it truly doesn't matter what other people think, because it doesn't. 

I will define myself by how I see myself.
I will receive compliments with a smile and a sincere "Thank you", but I will not let them shape my entire day.
I will not allow criticism to tear down any of my self confidence.
I will be me.

And everyone else should do the same.

Question Number 8: High Expectations

Four seemingly harmless words are constantly falling out of people's mouths: "Give him a chance."

While they are seemingly harmless, I despise hearing them.  I want to scream to them and the rest of the world, "Why?! Why should I have to?"

My best friend counters their advice with words of her own, ones that she repeats to me when she knows I need to hear them.  She tells me, "You should never have to settle."  And I shoudn't, right? 

Right?

It's almost comical to think that somewhere, a beautiful girl sits in her room dreaming of a beautiful boy whom she loves with all her heart.  And somewhere, that very beautiful boy is dreaming about someone else-someone else that isn't her.  And in another room, there sits another boy who dreams of the beautiful girl-the same beautiful girl who dreams of the beautiful boy.

And the cycle continues.  I suppose the real question is, which one should 'give it a chance', essentially settling for what they do not truly want?  Should anyone have to settle?  Or is settling part of finding true love?

People tell me that my problem is that I have extremely high expectations.  I would have to agree.  I know who I like and I refuse to settle for anything else.  But I'm beginning to realize that maybe, just maybe, settling is essential in the ways of love.  Isn't it a fact that loving someone means loving their flaws as well?

When it comes to love, is having high exectations benificial or detrimental? 

Somewhere, there is the boy that I dream of.  But he dreams of someone else.
And somewhere else, there is another boy I know is dreaming of me.  Should I settle?  Should I unwillingly follow the advice that people have been pounding into me since boys first became a part of my life? 

I guess I'll never know.