I am always nervous. Each moment more precarious than the last, I am nervous about what my next step will be. Will my foot find solid ground or will it find nothing but emptiness, that disorienting feeling of leg going down on air instead of on the last staircase that should have been there, that you were so sure of being there that you bet all shots on it? I am betting my shots on a lot of things.
This is a scary thing, betting your shots. At least for me, because the targets that I dream of are high – plausibly higher than I can honestly hope to reach. I have sowed seeds, and I will provide water, and I will cut the weeds, but I cannot guarantee my flowers of hope that they will feel the warmth of the sun, that they will blossom and become, I cannot guarantee myself anything. I am in that peculiar position of knowing my goals, know them from the yearning in my solarplexis, know them from the space they take up in my thoughts, know them from the willingness I stay up, late late late, every night, every night, every night hoping that one day they will become tangible. But not knowing if the haze will ever clear. Never sure if I am good enough, actually, pretty sure that I am not. That some goals are too high for me, Gigi Chang, to touch even with my smallest finger, even for a fraction of time. I am Icarus, and my wings are burned before the sun’s rays ever find me.
Making what I have accomplished look easily done is a calculated move on my part. Of course I’ve achieved an almost perfect GPA. Of course I have a great job that I love. Of course I get to travel. Of course I go to fabulous restaurants, exclusive events, have fun loving friends; of course I have the full support of my parents, of course I look polished while doing it all. Of course I do it all. Someone who is dear to my heart now once said to me: “You know Gigi, I used to really dislike you. You just seemed to have everything. You made friends easily, you got great grades easily – I was jealous.”
It is hard to admit it, especially here on this blog, which is public, and where people will see, yes, it is hard to admit the ugly truths of my heart, but I will. I do it on purpose. I make it look easy so other people wonder why they can’t. But here is another truth: it is not so fabulous. I too am human, no matter how hard I try to make it seem like I am not. I perpetuate the image of a perfect high achiever, of an enviable life, but oh honey, oh honey just say it because we’re here already, aren’t we? I am insecure; the reason my legs are so strong is because the ground is constantly crumbling from beneath them.
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