When I was five, I wanted to be a nurse, like my mother. I even had a real stethoscope. That dream died when I realized I faint at the sight of blood.
When I was eight, I wanted to be a Broadway actress. I knew every line and song from “Little Orphan Annie” and even had the red dress to boot. (Hey, at least I didn’t want to be a paleontologist, like Mirror Editor in Chief Steven M. Andrews.)
But my Broadway dream died when I realized my calling was to be the next Nadia Comaneci, an all around Olympic gymnast. I even had my own balance beam in my backyard. But that dream died when I grew taller than five feet.
When I was in high school, I wanted to be a novelist. But my inability to commit to endings seemed to put that dream on the backburner.
I arrived at Jogues in 2002 as an innocent, wide-eyed 17-year-old girl who had four long years ahead of her to figure out who she was and what she wanted to do with her life. Now it’s 2005 and in the fall, I’m going to be a senior. Scary.
Not much has changed since freshman year. I mean, sure, I’ve matured, walked outside the bubble that is Yardley, Penn., and now know some important things. (For instance, Beirut is much more than just a Lebanese city.) But I still look like I’m 17 – or younger, many tell me – and I’m still left with uncertainties about what I want to do with my life and who exactly I am.
Actually, I have never understood the question, “Who am I?” because I’m fairly confident that I’m Kelly Sheehan. (I sure as heck would have been an Ignatian bummer). So maybe I have that one covered. On a deeper and more serious level, I’ve learned what I stand for and believe in during my time at Fairfield.
Of course, I still fumble with and question my beliefs and life sometimes. Clearly, this column is a good example of just that. I’m OK with this, because I’ll probably be doing it until I’m 80. I guess it just comes with my territory- even at age four I was questioning things like, “Why can’t PuppyChow be for kids, too?”
But the whole “What do I want to do for the rest of my life” question gives me the heebeegeebees. I’m going to be a journalist, right? That’s what I went to school for. But can I really do something for the rest of my life? Granted I was a little kid when I couldn’t make up my mind about my ultimate career, but even at 20 I just can’t fathom doing anything for the rest of my life.
Over the past few months, I’ve watched senior friends grapple with things like this. The topic of conversation is where they are going to live and what benefits their first jobs will offer them.
Where they are going to live?! Benefits?! I know I have a year left of comfort here at Fairfield, but the notion that I too will soon be a “real” adult is just too much for me to handle.
I don’t want to move far away. But what if “far away” is the only place I can find a job? What if I break my arm playing kickball again? Who will bring me to the hospital, wipe my tears, hand over the medical cards and sign the forms as I am wrapped up in a hot-pink cast?
Stop it Kelly. You’re being silly. What college graduate still plays kickball? (And more importantly, who opts for a hot-pink cast?)
That scares me too. When I graduate from college, are my days of silliness over? Am I not supposed to play kickball anymore?
A few days ago, I was in Stop and Shop, because a Kelly without Honey Nut Cheerios in the morning is like a Kelly destined for destruction by her second class. While I was contemplating choosing the healthier, more oaty, original Cherrios, a grandfather came soaring down the isle with his grandchildren in his shopping cart. The kids were squealing.
I’m not saying that once I graduate I’ll be grandma-aged, but who says I have to do something for the rest of my life and stop being silly? Isn’t part of “who I am” hot-pink? If I don’t like being a journalist, I can still go back to being a novelist, Little Orphan Annie, or even pick up something new.
Remember that “Sunscreen Song” on the radio? Didn’t Baz Luhrmann say that the most interesting people he knows are the ones who are 40 and still don’t know what they want to be? I could handle being that interesting person for at least a few years. Wow, I can’t believe I’m using the “Sunscreen Song” to make me feel better about my life.
If I move to California, South Africa or even Yemen (please God, let me stay around here), someone will visit me. There will be someone to bring me to the hospital if I break my arm during a company kickball game.
Obviously I’m scared about life after graduation, even though it’s a year out. But I also remember how scared I was to pack up my belongings, hug my friends and family goodbye and move into a triple (that was meant for two). I made it. Now I don’t want to leave the school I so desperately didn’t want to attend. It’s weird how things work out.
So from June to August, I will hold my last summer job. I will stay out late and dress in cut-off shorts, because clearly it will be unacceptable to wear them after graduation (joke). I will snuggle into my bed that I’ve slept in for at least 18 years and spend countless hours with high school friends.
Then, from September to May of next year, I will live up my senior year and start coping with the fact that this life phase is ending and a new, exciting one is beginning.
There’s life after college. I know it. I’ve seen it. People are happy, and once the class of 2006 graduates, we all will be too.
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