Originally written December 2016
Today I read the paper I had written at my unhappiest point, one year ago.
I wish I could speak to the girl in the reflection. A girl who wanted to stop feeling. Who had questioned taking her life. I wish I could tell her all that was in store for her, the place she would be in one year. Sarah one year ago had yet to realize her worth, to recognize her best friends, to join student government, to move to New York, intern for her dream company, Shinola, and live with four male 25-year old UVA grads turned bankers in a hysterical blind sublet in Tribeca. She had yet to put herself in situations of unfamiliarity that would force her to grow and find peace in discomfort- to spend a month in India, to survive a summer in Manhattan without having ever stepped foot in New York. She had yet to fall in love at least twenty times, both with eligible bachelors but also herself, to get a call from SharkTank about the start-up she created, to get a job at an investment bank.
I read this reflection from the other side, as a healed and sympathetic onlooker. I am truly the happiest I have ever been in my life, but it is not a naive bliss. It is a conscious realization of my fortune and cognizant awareness of all the blessings for which I am grateful. I wake up everyday and am blown away by how lucky I am to lead this life, how blessed I am with the people in my support system and with the opportunities that are available for me.
As I read my reflection, I remembered how hopeless I felt a year ago. The girl who wrote this reflection was taking her first steps towards wellness, had gone to therapy for the first time, had just started talking about how there was a problem in her life that she could not control, but she had a long road ahead of her to fully heal.
How could Sarah have known one year ago all that the world had in store? I still had yet to get to know the people who would transform me. These mentors and friends made me realize that I have been given SO much and that it is my duty not only to recognize that, but to make an impact. And to realize that this unique impact, be it as small as the contribution I have made as a Teaching Assistant or as a daughter or classmate, is the reason that I was pulled from the darkness. The energy that I can bring to my relationships, enthusiasm to my classes and campus involvements, advice to the students I mentor, small moments of interaction that I may not distinctly remember...these contributions are my impact.
When I sat down to read, I expected to pity the girl I was a year ago, as 1.) I knew she wrote in an overly superfluous way that had yet to go through two business communications classes and 2.) because I thought I could separate who I used to be from who I am now.
However, I was surprised, and shocked really, with how fully the reflection returned me to the darkness. It took my breath away, to feel what I had felt last year so raw, and so familiar. I had forgotten the way discontent and loneliness had twisted my stomach, but experiencing the pain again told me that those emotions were real, not mere overreactions. I have to accept these feelings as part of my journey instead of pretending they never existed. More so, it made me realize just how dramatic my healing has been.
My return to this reflection was motivated by the responses I read from a survey Emily Glazer and I launched today, working with the Ross administration to study the culture of the business school. It was serendipitous that we sent this survey out today, as it is Emily’s 21st birthday tomorrow. I had sat down to write her a letter to thank her for pulling me out of my darkness last year, as she is the most selfless and generous friend I have ever had. I had spoken of this realization to 60 sophomore Ross students earlier today, as I tried to give them advice about navigating their sophomore year.
I quietly sit in my room now, reflecting on the day while drinking coffee at 8:23 pm and avoiding the onslaught of homework I have yet to touch. I went to yoga today, and will go again tomorrow. In the morning, I get to pass out 574 Shinola journals to my fellow classmates of Ross as a class gift that I facilitated, am having my picture taken for an article about outstanding students, get to share out the impact of the survey I created at my Central Student Government meeting. My best friend, Emily Glazer, is turning 21 and is hosting a sundae bar at her apartment. A boy that I have a crush on and I might get coffee. I have about 10,000 things to write about in my gratitude journal and my room is sparkling clean. What a wonderful world I exist in. I have incredible friends from all corners of the world, from different upbringings, ages, majors, colleges, paths of life that I know I could turn to at any moment. Tomorrow I will wake up and the sun will rise. I will update my professors about the survey, will tell my parents how much I love them, will dream of my upcoming semester in Barcelona, summer in New York, and potential thesis senior year. Each wonder, big and small, is a moment for gratitude.
I am grateful that I took time last year to reflect on who I was and how I felt. This baseline allows me to compare my view of the world then to the joy with which I now experience my reality. Even the hard days- they are moments of challenge that precipitate growth. I am learning from my failures, pivoting, adapting, crafting my life into one so filled with happiness that I never imagined it would be available to me. This perspective is the greatest gift that I have been afforded. I hope to live as a tangible expression of this realization, to light in others the jubilance that has been lit in me.