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My Story

I'm an overthinker. I'm an overthinker to a level you can't even imagine. Every minute left on delivered, every slight change in tone, and every period in a text message means something to me. I'm constantly asking myself:
Are they mad at me? What did I do wrong? How do I even begin replying to this?
Amidst this constant anxiety, I do my best to remind myself to be present, put my phone down, and worry less about the outcome. And yet, this often causes further tension:
Am I living in the moment enough? Am I missing something important? Am I doing this all wrong?


The poem A Story by Li-Young Lee resonated with me because of this constant internal conflict. Throughout the poem, the father, so focused on the possibility of the son's future, cannot express his feelings of love in the moment. 

With just one more quarter of the life I have known for the past thirteen years left, I find myself caught in the same trap. I worry when I enjoy something so much that I lose track of my future. I worry when I don't enjoy something enough. I worry when I don't feel the way I think I should. I worry when I feel too much. No matter what I do, there’s always a voice in the back of my mind asking if I’m getting it right—if I’m living out the picture-perfect senior year from the stories and the movies.

But the more I try to control the narrative, the more I realize how impossible that is. Life isn’t meant to fit into neat little boxes—it’s messy, unpredictable, and full of contradiction. Worrying about the future and reminiscing on the past doesn't have to take away from my ability to live in the present. As the speaker explores through the poem, "a boy's supplications and a father's love add up to silence" (23). Maybe, this "silence" isn't bad or wrong, it's just a part of the experience. And in that uncertainty, in the push-and-pull of overthinking, I’ve come to accept something important: my story isn't perfect. It never will be. And perhaps, somehow, that makes it perfect.

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