thoughts from magic mountain*

OR: what I wish I knew when I was seventeen 

17. My lucky number, and a relatively lucky year. Lots of good shit happened when I was seventeen, but it was also the year when I felt most like the carpet had been pulled out from beneath me. I’ve been thinking about what I could write about for the past couple of days, and it’s been driving me up the wall – this is going to feel more personal-blog than teacher-blog, but bear with me (or don’t – stop reading this and go about your day if you want to, I’m not your mum). Meet 17-year-old me:

Having just witnessed my first high school graduation as a teacher, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it was like to be in that position: giving up everything that makes sense to you and having to walk into an entirely different world. For myself, those baby steps out of high school were tentative; no one I knew had been in my position before, I didn’t understand how to navigate university admissions, I had never held a real job (delivering catalogues in my nana trolley does not count, thanks mum) and I didn’t feel like a grown up yet – or at least, I wasn’t sure what being a grown-up was supposed to feel like. Reflecting on the kids that I know now, I think I was definitely about 20 steps behind the pack, and they are far more put together than I could have ever dreamed, but it’s nice to reflect on my growth, and it’s important for everyone to do it every now and again.

there are two kinds of people in this world: people who have no idea what they’re doing and liars

My top three course preferences when I was applying for university through UAC were as follows:

1. Social work
2. Speech pathology
3. Psychology

I was ambitious and… confused. Only months before I’d hastily ticked the box that says “yes, I’ll have an ATAR thanks” not thinking I’d actually USE it and when it came to the crunch I had no idea what I wanted to do, only that I had a vague sense of wanting to serve others. When first-round offers came around in December I did get into social work at my preferred university and in the excitement of accepting my offer and enrolling in the course, I mistakenly signed myself up as a research assistant. The lesson? University websites are confusing to navigate.

I plugged away at social work for a year and a half before calling it quits, discovering that I was not built for the lifestyle that comes with being a social worker. I didn’t feel like I could honestly embody the stoicism that I thought was necessary for the role – anyone who knows me knows I’m always down to cry –  and so I packed it in. This was a terrifying and bold decision to make, considering I did not know what I was doing.

It’s a common theme in my life, not knowing what I’m doing. Becoming a teacher was something that I fell into and it took me ages to figure out if I was making the right decision. When reflecting on it now, I can see that I still managed to fumble my way into a role where I serve others and that suits me and it’s nice to know that I didn’t fall too short of the mark I had originally set for myself. While I don’t think this is my forever job (there are too many lives I haven’t had the chance to live yet) it works right now, and I genuinely feel that I have found my place. Everything is connected in weird ways, but I’m not going to pretend it makes any sense to me.

finding your people is going to take some time

My first ever day of university I sat in a psychology lecture with no pen and no friends. I remember forcing myself to ask a stranger if I could borrow a pen and just feeling so desperately anxious about the whole situation (it was even worse when, at the end of the hour, I had to return it and speak to the stranger all over again) that I genuinely thought about crying. It might have been an excellent opportunity to make a friend, but I didn’t feel ready to do it, and moreover, I didn’t know how. Up until that point, the friends that I had made had been people I shared things in common with – being from the Western Suburbs, attending the same high school as me, liking the same weirdo shit that I liked – but in that moment I felt utterly lost. It’s completely ridiculous, but I went home and I cried and I vowed that I would not be returning. It took ages to make friends at university and I really bloody hated it.

Coming to terms with the fact that my high school friends were not my forever friends was tricky too – it became clear that sometimes, the people who are closest to you are closest because of proximity, and not necessarily because of some deep soul connection. University forced me to make friends who weren’t from my suburb and it allowed me to find people who shared deep passions for the things that I cared about. In a more roundabout way, it also helped me to see that I didn’t actually need 20 friends, and in fact, I am the kind of person who is inclined to let people walk all over her – as long as I could make people laugh, I chased that feeling until I wore myself out.

Six years out of high school, I’ve got my people. They are few, but they are what I need, and I hope that I am able to be of some use to them too. I’ve tried to think of a definitive list of things that make a good friend, but I honestly couldn’t tell you. That’s something that everyone has to figure out on their own.

treat your mind with the same respect as you give your body

When you are depressed or anxious sometimes your brain does this dumb trick where it convinces you that actually this is what it’s supposed to be like – you’re supposed to feel sad and stressed and a little bit helpless all the time. Your brain is a lying jerk.

The very nature of anxiety and depression is this cyclical nightmare where you feel garbage, but convince yourself that you’re probably making it up and actually Taylor, there are people who are far worse off than you. And, duh, of course, there are people who are suffering more than you, but that doesn’t negate your own suffering – just because someone else had to get their leg amputated, that doesn’t mean your broken leg should miraculously be fine. As naff as it is, comparing the way that I treat my physical wellbeing to the way I treat my mental wellbeing is a way of keeping myself in check.

Seeking the guidance of counsellors didn’t fix me, per se, but it helped me to genuinely acknowledge what was going on in my brain and to do something about it. It’s a valuable thing to be able to acknowledge when you’re not okay, and when you need a little bit of extra love and care. Asking for that assistance is hard, and something that takes a long time to get good at (I don’t even feel like I’m quite there yet) and it is important to not be too hard on yourself. Growth doesn’t come in leaps and bounds and it can be hard to measure; take a little time every now and again to reflect on how you’ve changed, it can be kind of miraculous!

you’re not as cool as you think you are, sorry

This is still a bitter pill to swallow. When I was in high school I considered myself alternative, completely separate from the pack, with interests that no one in the world shared. Of course, this was complete and utter crap, and it wasn’t until I went to a university which had its own fine arts school that I realised I didn’t even know the meaning of ‘alternative’. On top of that, I realised that I found the alternative ‘kids’ really alienating because they often tried really hard to set themselves apart, just for the sake of being seen in a particular way.

I don’t have the requisite energy it takes to be ‘cool’ and I’m not really sure what my image is anymore, or whether I even have one. At the same time, I feel like I know myself now, and I know that sounds wanky, but I know who and what I care about and I know what I am interested in and what my values are, I have an idea of what I want from life, and what the standards are that I hold myself and others by.

And while it is painful to reflect on how ‘cool’ I thought I was at 17, it is nice to not look back on that time thinking “man, those were the Golden Years”. As far as I can tell, things keep on getting better, and it’s nice to know I’ve got that to look forward to.

there’s so much weird and wonderful shit to come: you’re not going to believe it!

No amount of money or time machines could make me be 17 again. I did it once and I shan’t ever do it again.

Since 17 life has managed to take weird and wonderful turns that I never could have imagined. There’s not much more to say than that really: things get better, or at least, they’re different. Who you are is going to shift and change as you fit into different molds, you’ll meet new people who’ll have a profound impact on who you are and how you perceive yourself (for better or for worse). And while you’re not going to have any idea how to navigate the bumps in the road, life has a funny habit of finding a way.

Don’t panic.

You’ll figure it out.

Best,

Miss Tracy.

* Magic Mountain is the name of a local hangout (make-out spot) that is neither magic nor a mountain. I went there on graduation day with the boy I had a crush on, we held hands in the back of someone else’s Jeep and it felt like the height of being grown up. It was not (P.S – A. if you’re reading this, sorry) 

Growth GIF: https://gph.is/2MzGyGR