In 7th grade, I went to the school counselor because I had admitted that I was experiencing anxiety. I blamed the whole feeling on my mother, who wanted me to continue swimming while I wanted to do theatre. I didn’t have much against swimming except for the fact that I wasn’t great. I was 13 and swam with 9-year-olds who would consistently tap my heels to pass me in the pool. With theatre, I had just got into the most prestigious theatre class in my middle school. It may sound stupid but I thought that theatre was my calling. I complained about the long hours of play rehearsal and swim practice in conjunction with schoolwork and dance classes. The counselor told me that I was “spreading myself too thin”. This phrase stuck with me more than anything. So, in response, I began to reject everything that I wasn’t slightly good at. It started with swimming, then moved to the theatre when I realized that I wasn’t as passionate about it as the other kids in my class. This continued until I had nothing to call my “hobby.” Nevertheless, I still felt the same. There remained this cloud of what I call “too much” glooming over me. It was the fly that buzzed too close to your ear and every time you try to swat it out the way, it moves the very millisecond.

Why? Why do I feel so overwhelmed even though I don’t have a hobby? It turns out this feeling is quite literally everywhere and where I find it most is within my identity. My generation often obsesses over our identity so much that building it begins to feel just as exhausting as going to swim practice or theatre rehearsal. Expressing and acting on our interests starts to feel like a task. I am not sure if this feeling is known, but at times you wish your identity didn’t matter that much wishing that you could only be yourself without the interests because, at this point, they feel more like accessories than apart of you.

Not to mention, these days, expressing an interest feels so competitive. Listening to music became a competition of “who has the best taste”? Watching movies became a competition of “who knows the most obscure director”? Reading books became a competition of “who read all the classics first”? This competitiveness makes people feel as though their interests are not valid. Even though listening to music, watching movies, and reading books are all simple activities, they start to feel like a game. One where if you win, you’ve finally “proven yourself”. But why are we doing this? Not for self-satisfaction, but for societal approval. For people to think you are unique and a true-individual. It feels inauthentic and there is a guilt that comes with truly not enjoying what you are doing but merely pretending.

I find myself reading books and watching obscure films simply to post and boast about them. I’ll spend hours curating playlists that other people enjoy more than I do. The overall truth is, we are all pretentious. I don’t know what the solution to this issue is. I, like many others, am still trying to enjoy things for myself and not for others.

~Nirvika Dhanasri