Goldilocks Goes to College

It was never my favorite fairytale. Was it anyone’s? Goldilocks made a muck of a perfectly good house being too indecisive to only disturb one bear’s peace. She just had to disturb them all.

The story is supposed to teach young kids about self-concern, about how their actions can hurt others. Goldilocks was supposed to be an unlikable protagonist, although now, I fear I’m one and the same.

The choices that are everywhere, at every moment, are attached to such an all-consuming morality; at least for me. Each thing I do is objectively good or bad, helpful or unhelpful, and hopefully not the worst of all, regretful. It has really weighed me down to treat life like a calendar. Penciling in time for “good,” trying to erase spaces where “bad” could fit, all while eating three meals a day, walking enough, and texting my mom back.

There is so much to think about, which makes living in the moment kind of impossible; especially when what proceeds and follows is just another one. I live fine in those I can cultivate—like plans created weeks ago finally coming to fruition. I live splendidly there, dodging my own bullets and pretending I didn’t see them coming.

But unfortunately, when situations can’t be planned, I’m no better than GoldieLocks herself.

The Porridges of My Days

See when things can’t be planned, or even worse, are planned but falter greatly, I go about them like she did porridge. I try something, am repelled by it’s imperfection, and on the next. It is seemingly reasonable written out: to try, then move on, but living it has proved unreasonable. For it is unreasonable to walk to the other end of campus in hopes that the salad bar down there will have the chickpeas the one by my dorm did not. It is unreasonable to spend 10 minutes on 10 tasks because you don’t know which one is important enough to be done first.

Nevertheless, I let myself waste infinite time for finite possibilities. It seems doing this has been inoculated into my very veins, as if my destiny is to dwindle into submission.

The funny thing is that there’s not much I am submitting to. No bears eventually coming home, saying I shouldn’t have laid on their beds! Perhaps that’s the most devastating part of it all. That I could do this forever, plotting and grieving, all behind a stone face. My respite is my problem too.

What is there to do?

My mom used to help me weigh pros and cons at home. My dad would ask if the weather was good, and that factor was usually the extent of his input. Either way, I had an outside source to validate whatever direction I was swaying in, thus making it less likely I split into two to negate the choice.

With the newfound freedom of college, I split all too easily; bifurcating some parts of myself to be rational and some aspirational. In some cases that’s fine, and I average out in the just-right area. My rationality will get me to class on time, skipping over the long acai bowl line. My aspiration will plant me on a networking Zoom call, skipping over an invite to the beach.

Then there are the cases where I am deluded by both. Where I truly and wholy don’t know what’s right for me, and there are not three clean options to choose from. It’s scary to feel so disconnected. It’s the fulcrum of my worry, because it spreads to just about everything.

If I can’t choose a damn shirt to wear, knowing all well class starts in five minutes, how am I supposed to choose a career path, knowing all well life has already started. If I go fast enough I can try seven shirts on and rush into the back row unscathed. But there is no pace, at least not one I’ve discovered yet, that would enable me to be a journalist, writer, lawyer, musician, digital nomad, podcast host, videographer, and psychologist all in the time it takes before graduating college.

What happens if there comes a point where I try my plan, find its imperfection, and can’t go to the next?

Where do I go then?

Perhaps into the forest, away from careers and partners and salad bars, to a quaint little cottage. And perhaps there I’ll wreak my havoc on their preplanned moments, since I seemingly put them through apotheosis myself.