When I was little, I had extremely strict rules and expectations for my future: be a computer engineer like my father, start a nonprofit by 25 and absolutely no dating or vacations until I had completed a PhD in the fanciest-sounding STEM discipline. If I met my high school self today, younger me would be puzzled by the woman in front of her — a tattoo-covered literature major with no post-grad job lined up who will soon move to San Francisco to join her boyfriend.
I was full of light from the prospect of reinventing myself during my first months at Occidental. Charting out everything I planned to accomplish during my four short years was intoxicating. Take the hardest classes. Join every club. Participate in every program. Win all the awards.
On the outside, I was the picture-perfect daughter on a merit scholarship with multiple leadership positions on campus. However, internally, I was conflicted because I still wasn’t content with who I was. Being in a new environment with new people was shifting my mindset, and I was confused and frustrated with myself because I was becoming such a different person than the one I recognized in the mirror.
Admittedly, I sometimes enjoyed late-night talks with friends more than time-blocking my schedule for the following day. I no longer felt guilty not getting perfect marks on exams if I needed extra sleep the night before instead of pushing myself to my limit. I didn’t even feel the need to forgive myself for hanging out with the cute senior biology major multiple days in a row instead of giving up my lunch hour to apply for internships. Who was I?
I slowly realized I wasn’t mad at who I was becoming because I recognized I was growing into a healthier, more well-balanced person; I was frustrated that I was even changing at all. I was married to a version of myself that was validated by unsustainable expectations of the past. I had adapted so well to all the external changes of moving to a new state and starting college, but none of that meant anything if I wasn’t ready to accept the change within myself.
I recently got a new tattoo, which would have been unthinkable to my freshman self because accepting personal change haunted me, no matter how positive. In fact, it was my third one. I have also gotten ten new ear piercings since starting college and have dyed and cut my hair more times than I can count. As I was hunched over the bathroom sink, bleaching my eyebrows last week, I thought that I was so cool for being proud of my body modifications and how I now crave more of them — more permanent change.
It then dawned on me that I view my internal growth like I do my crazy external body modifications. Somewhere along the way, I welcomed change within myself and growth with open arms.
Like a heavily-tattooed person getting the “itch” for their next piece, I now yearn for new beginnings because I’m excited to meet the person I grow into. Just like every tattoo on my body, I will always carry with me all the past images and versions of myself. They might fade and get blurry over time, and I may like some more than others, but all the different pieces work together to make me complete, and I shouldn’t be scared to add another one.
My newest tattoo reads, “πάντα χωρεῖ καὶ οὐδὲν μένει” — Everything changes and nothing remains still. I had been planning this tattoo for almost a year, as I knew I wanted a piece to commemorate my time in the Comparative Studies in Literature and Culture department. It accompanies an image of a large wave that wraps around my upper arm, symbolizing both the death and dawn of a character in one of my favorite books, “Finnegans Wake.” Like Anna Liva Plurabelle changing forms and pouring into the vast ocean, I am about to embark on the journey of finding home in the ever-changing adventure of life and becoming myself after college.
My time in college gave me so much more than a piece of paper in a diploma cover saying I read books and can translate Chinese and Greek literature. It allowed me not only to grow into myself but also to learn how to love who I become. The people I’ve met taught me to appreciate the person I was in the past, but also to be excited for the next version of myself.
As my deeply-admired professor, Sydney Mitsunaga-Whitten, once said to me, “To live is to love and leave.” In order to fully appreciate my time at Occidental and the person I have grown into, I must leave it behind to open myself to the new. I have to be brave enough to know I will never be the same person again. I must gracefully step into the water to be swept up by waves, because I know that only through change will I continue remaking myself and completely become who I am.
Contact Anna Beatty at beatty@oxy.edu
