Into the Deep End

I have had to wear glasses my entire life. This meant that a lot of childhood activities were complicated, especially when they included anything involving a ball, somersaults, or water; and I grew up in Texas, where sports and pools were essentially the biggest parts of childhood. Before I had contacts, I would wear prescription swimming goggles, so I could keep up with my friends. I was suddenly able to swim underwater and not have to worry about my fragile frames getting too wet or potentially broken. Our community pool had a diving board which was obviously the most epic part about summertime. But, for whatever reason, there is a common lifeguard rule that enforces goggles to be removed before jumping off of a diving board, no matter how suspended it is. My mom would encourage me to explain to the intimidating fifteen-year-old lifeguard that I was essentially blind without my goggles, but I was too timid to stand up to the rules. So, I would comply, toss my goggles to the side, and blurrily try to wobble to the end of the diving board, making the decision to throw myself into the deep end and test my survival. After crashing into the water, I would have to find my way to the ladder and retrieve my goggles. Somehow, I always reigned victorious.

This became my favorite game to play, continuously stripping myself of my eyesight to see if I could find it again, addicted to the thrill and the struggle. Now, at twenty-one, I can’t remember the last time I jumped off a diving board. I have also upgraded from being a constant glasses (or prescription goggles) wearer to an avid contact wearer until I have to peel them from my eye and put on my glasses for the night. When it is time for bed, I put my glasses on my nightstand, making myself unable to see and force myself to close my eyes and focus on sleeping.

The other night, I woke up from a psychologically horrific nightmare. In my dream, I jumped off of a diving board and landed in the middle of a shark-infested ocean without my glasses, contacts, or goggles. I was stranded and couldn’t find a way out and woke up as I was getting gobbled by a shark. This dream haunted me for the rest of the day, mainly because I was trying to attach some sort of meaning to it. Later that night, I cracked the code. I had spent the night leading up to the nightmare planning for life after graduation and I think this was one of those dreams that reflected all of my fears, just like when you dream about missing your alarm on the first day of school or being unprepared for an exam you’d been studying hard for. I recently made the decision to not go to graduate school right out of finishing my bachelor’s so I could work and figure out what I really wanted to do with my life. This means that I will be graduating in December, which I didn’t necessarily intend to do or plan on. And for some reason, it is really freaking me out. Up until this point, I have been obliged to society’s expectations of me: I was born, went to school, applied to college, and went to college. I never rebelled or misbehaved in an extreme way and did everything I was supposed to. But now, I am graduating college, and there really isn’t a guide map from here because everyone is on their own timeline and path.

I think part of what makes this suck so bad is that this is not a unique experience. This existential dread comes over anyone who is in a transitional period of their life. I just feel like this has all snuck up so quickly. I do not have a plan, I don’t know what I am going to do after graduation, I don’t know where I am going to live or how I am going to get there, and I just can not visualize what my life will look like after December of 2023. Because of all of this dread and confusion, I have been reaching back into the depths of my memory to remember my feelings about coming to college. Somehow I avoided most of this angst after high school when I was leaving Dallas for Boston. I think finishing high school at the height of the pandemic made coming to college a lot easier. I didn’t have to confront graduation or the fact that I was officially leaving where I had lived all my life. Within a blink of an eye, I am sitting in my second apartment in Boston, I haven’t spent more than a week home in Dallas since December of 2021 and all I can think about are my next moves once classes are finished and my lease is up. Ultimately, I am wasting too much time stressing myself out about the future because it still is a long way away. I want to soak up my last moments in college as a “fake adult”.

I am approaching my last summer in Boston, I just had my last spring break, and in a few months, I will have my last first day. As someone who has always enjoyed the structure of school and learning, this is going to be a really interesting shift in my life. Despite trying to stay positive about it all, I still feel like I am looking over the deep end of the pool without my goggles on, reluctant to jump in. And while I am almost positive there are no sharks in the pool, I’m not sure how easy it will be to find my way back to the ladder. The lifeguard blows their whistle at me telling me to “move it or lose it.” I can’t look back now, and I just have to jump in and find my way.

Your MagazineApril 30, 2023