People keep asking me what I want to be.
Teachers. Family. Adults who barely know me but still expect an answer.
They ask like it’s a simple question, like everyone my age is supposed to have a clear plan already. College, career, future—lined up and ready to explain in a few confident sentences. When I hesitate, they smile politely, like I’ll figure it out eventually, but I can feel the pressure sitting there between us.
I don’t know how to explain that I don’t want a title right now. I want to breathe. I want days that don’t feel like they’re leading toward some invisible deadline. I want to feel proud of myself without that pride being attached to productivity or achievements.
Sometimes I try to pick an answer just to make people comfortable. I say something practical. Something that sounds ambitious enough. But it doesn’t feel true. It feels like borrowing someone else’s dream because mine isn’t finished yet.
I want time to figure it out. Time to make mistakes, change my mind, try things that don’t work. I want space to grow into myself without feeling like I’m already behind.
Why does not knowing feel like failing? Why does uncertainty feel like something to apologize for? I wish people understood that confusion isn’t laziness and hesitation isn’t weakness.
I don’t know what I want yet. But I know I’m still becoming someone. And I hope that’s allowed.
