But, When Does It End?
I Can’t Escape the Never-Ending Cycle of Thinking Something Good Will Eventually Conclude.
Since I was young, I’ve been in a never-ending cycle of finding “the one.” When I say “the one,” I don’t mean a man.
I needed to find the dress for the 8th grade boat dance, I needed to find the right major that would, in my mind, determine my entire future, and I needed to find the dog that would be the successor to my soulmate dog (but also, how could I ever replace him?)
And sometimes, I would find what I thought to be the one.
For my high school’s winter dance, I found the dress— a simple A-line with pink sparkly and beaded tulle that made me feel like a princess. But then, this magical dress snagged on the venue’s fold-up tables, leaving a hole in its fabric, and my crush, who was supposedly going to ask me to dance, danced with another girl.
And, shouldn’t a magical dress that’s “the one” also have magical capabilities? Well, guess not. The dress’s magic had a limit, which ended the moment I stepped through the threshold.
Growing up, I loved theater (and still do, although it’s a little different now that I'm an adult). During the school year, from 3rd through 6th grade, I would rehearse every morning and, eventually, after school, for a musical. I loved it beyond words. I played a gingerbread man, prisoner, mermaid, fairy godmother, pirate, and more. I remember coming home from rehearsal, humming the songs and hoping I’d get to keep my costume for Halloween.
Throughout every production, I’d tell myself, “This is the show,” thinking the present one was better than the last. And eventually, my 6th-grade show (my final elementary production) was the show when I secured the lead role.
That year, springtime rolled around fast. And with springtime came three performances— a culmination of a school year of work— and then, in the blink of an eye, it would all be over. Sometimes we’d have a cast party after a production and say goodbye to our theater family, but not always.
On a Sunday matinee, we’d do our final bows, and Monday morning, I’d ride the school bus home instead of heading to the theater, later lying upside down on my family’s couch, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours.
“Why does it have to end?” I’d think to myself.
I don’t think it was necessarily theater and pink beaded dresses that solidified my mindset that good things come to an end, but I also can’t say confidently what it was, either.
Maybe it was simply due to life’s inherent impermanence? Although I doubt I grasped that concept so young. Or maybe it’s because I grieved loved ones young, reshaping my perception of the stability of “good things”? I don’t know.
But now, at 22, frankly, I’m sick of this cycle. People have always considered me a fairly positive person, but internally, this negative mindset, at times, plagues me.
I find it submerging itself into my romantic relationships. I wonder when I’ll find out that he’s talking to another girl, who he likes more, or that he just secretly hates me.
I find it working its way into my career. I wonder when I’ll screw up so bad that they’ll simply say, “See ya, Celia.”
And, I find myself overly concerned for my loved ones’ health, scared that my time with them will be cut short.
Yes, I know this is largely anxiety speaking, but my brain also just anticipates it as an almost protective mechanism, analyzing the patterns from the past.
What I know now is that this cycle isn’t necessarily bad, as long as it doesn’t exist alone. Thinking all good things end, leaving you in a bottomless pit of sorrow— not good! But, knowing that when something dies or ends, a flower can grow in its ruins— that’s what keeps me going.
Celia <3
☆˚✧₊⁎⁺༚☆˚✧₊⁎⁺☆˚✧₊⁎⁺༚☆˚✧₊⁎
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