All of a sudden I am the person I spent so much of my life preparing for: the young woman who has studied abroad and is now going to graduate
from college. Cue the real world? Whatever that looks like, whenever that comes,
I’m having a hard time answering to it. Most people have never heard of my
major, and when that inevitable follow-up question tumbles out about my post-grad
career, my response is never really straightforward.
I have stood steadfastly by my academic and professional
decisions from the start, but that belies the twinge of uncertainty I feel
every time I explain (or inwardly justify) my vision for my future. I am so
scared that I screwed up or that I am about to screw up. Comfortingly, I'm pretty sure I'm not alone. I’m surrounded by people like me:
young and on the precipice of the very future whose promise has carried us through
every tough moment up to this point. We are pumped full of our families support
and praise and we are scared shitless about what comes next. We swim in this
pool of fear as we are asked by people, by society, by the voices in our heads
what we plan on doing with all that we've been given and all that we’ve worked
for. The answers we give are the life jackets we cling to.
As I admit all this, I can’t help but feel
presumptuous and ungrateful. I mean, I’m a first-generation American student.
My parents immigrated here and worked their asses off so they could help their
respective families avoid struggle. Then they met each other, got married and continued
to work their asses off so that the family they created together didn’t have to
struggle. As a result, growing up (you guessed it) I didn’t really have to
struggle, at least not in the same way they did. I have been blessed with the
luxury of being able to discover my passions and build my life around them.
That’s the point, right? My parents did all that they did so
that I could dream big. They’ve supported every decision that I’ve made, and
have respected that I have pursued my own wishes, even when doing so contradicted
what would generally be expected of me as a studious, focused youth who is
competent in the hard sciences (read: medical school). I don’t believe that I’m disappointing my parents-that’s
proven hard to do, they’re pretty special people-but becoming a doctor (or
lawyer or businesswoman or engineer) are good ways to give back to this world
that has so graciously accommodated me at the same time as doing justice to all
the work my parents did, all the hope and pride that aunts and uncles and
grandparents and teachers have had for me over the years. Isn’t it?
And yet, if you ask my parents what they hope for my future, they say without reservation, in all the languages they speak and with every
ounce of sincerity they possess: “I want her to be happy.” There are no contingencies;
they even give me the freedom to establish my own definition of happiness. Sure, they
have their fears, they don’t want to me to settle, they want me to see myself
as big as they see me and my future. But they always come back to this simple
answer.
So, Mom and Bob, I promise you this: No matter where I am or
what I’m doing, I will understand happiness (Shari's already on top of this). When I’m unhappy, I will remember
that it’s okay to be so and that I will be happy again at some point. I will
take care of those I love, of this world around me and I will do my best to
share my happiness. I will raise a family to carry on your legacy that teaches
about the potency of love and the pervasiveness of joy. I will respect myself
and take strength from my decisions, because that grows the roots of happiness
deeper. I will sometimes call you crying and then come to you later when the
tears have dried and there’s a smile on my face. For right now, that is
the best way I can think of to thank you. Knowing you two, I have a feeling it
will be enough.
That is, of course, until the time comes for grandchildren.
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