Chapter 7 - Change isn't Always Bad

I spent many days fantasising despite not having taken a single step towards my goal. Swallowed by grandiosity and procrastination, I felt trapped. Make-believe was only enjoyable so long as I avoided thinking about reality and the steps I would have to take. Isn't that what's fun about it? And yet, it was not something I could avoid, not if I wanted to escape this dreadful life of someone drifting by. Out of the 24 hours in a day, I had probably spent 17 of them in dreams either while awake or asleep. But I had come no closer to making a decision.

There is something frightening about preparing for the future. I am constantly gripped by the fear that my mind will change - as it often does. What if I pour all of my energy into attempting to fulfil something, only to find out I feel unfulfilled? Knowing the mortality of man, I cannot comfortably allow myself to waste time in such a way even if that was exactly what I was doing. I spent more time wondering what I am doing with my life than I did actually doing anything. My anxieties were numerous but my achievements only a handful. Does everyone feel this way? It's hard to imagine that people are capable of battling this discomfort and still achieving great things when I struggle so much.

Worse than any change of plans or sudden disinterest, was the worry that everything would repeat itself. How would I cope if I put so much effort into bringing something into fruition but could not see it to the end? What if I woke up one day in some place entirely different, with a different face and different name? Would that finally change me?

But what if nothing changed? What if I tried my best and still fell short due to some inherent inadequacy that cannot be trained away? That may be the worst yet, to know that the only thing preventing me from achieving my goals is myself. It is much simpler to blame others, individuals, systems, the world. But what if it is was my fault alone? Then nothing would change regardless of time, effort or anything else.

Is it worth the risk?

On the one hand I was gripped by the fears of unanswered questions while on the other, I pictured myself at ease with who I am and content with my life. It is difficult to decide what to do when the options are both polar extremes. Catastrophising things has become a hobby of mine so it's unsurprising that even in my dreams I begin to worry about what could go wrong. I sleep but I don't feel rested. I wake but I don't feel conscious. Drifting in and out of my own head, it becomes increasingly difficult to differentiate reality from imaginary. But I cannot make a decision in that state, not when it seems to contradict my existence thus far.

From my very first waking moment here, I knew that I was not anyone special. I knew that fate had plans for me, written before I could even fathom. I made peace with that, knowing it was unlikely for me to become someone other than what was expected. How then can I reclaim autonomy as if I had not wasted months under the guise of a predestined life? Tossing aside this safety net may seem simple to others but to me it was the equivalent of attempting to swim without knowing how. I feel I no longer know how to live. How then can I start my life over?

Anson's words played over and over in my mind as I deliberated my decision.

"You might find that your power is more useful than you initially thought."

Considering I had near to no hope at all, I doubt it is difficult to believe that statement. It would take almost no effort to consider it to be more useful than I initially thought. The main issue is whether I would be content with it's usefulness, or whether it would cause me to spiral once again into feelings of worthlessness.

"You might find that your power is more useful than you initially thought."

How could he have sounded so confident despite hardly knowing me and my abilities? Word of mouth can only stretch so far, and I highly doubt others were overemphasising my abilities. If anything, they seemed to be undermining me. How then could Anson sound certain that I would find truth in his words? Most importantly, how could he believe his own words and beliefs enough to verbalise them to me?

Where I was afraid of failure - among many things - he was afraid of confrontation and discomfort. How can he face his fears so easily for something that doesn't even concern him? Does it make sense that he would have faith in a person he knows nothing about and would seek them out to offer his services? Maybe I am just a terrible person who thinks only of their own personal goals without attempting to support others. Altruism is evidently not my most redeeming trait.

"You might find that your power is more useful than you initially thought."

The more I replayed his voice with every intonation I could remember, the more his confidence was gradually seeping into me. Slowly, his confidence was becoming my own and I was filling with the slightest bit of hope that this time change may not be bad. Noticing this sudden increase in confidence I decided that I had deliberated enough. I must act now to prevent the chances of falling back into the helpless pit I often found myself in.

When the final lesson of the day had finished and everyone had left, I slipped a small note into Anson's desk that read:

I hope I do not regret my faith in your words. I am willing to give it a try.