I am sitting at the desk in the corner of my childhood bedroom amidst the clutter of my youth—old soccer trophies that are rewarded to every participant in the league under the guise of fairness, the flower crown with long-dead roses that I wore at my high school graduation, a photo of me with my grandmother from when I was five—and I am trying to pinpoint the moment that I stopped using the phrase “when I grow up” under the misguided presumption that I had already done so. The question, “what do you want to be when you grow up”, was most frequently asked of me when I was a kid, in a way that connoted endless possibility. Now all around me it feels as though my peers have the types of answers to that question that are as succinct and direct as the path on which they find themselves. Their paths seem unhindered by the sense of impossibility which increasingly overwhelms me. “When we lose that sense of the possible we lose it fast” (Joan Didion). Where the coronavirus has taken me out of the regular goings on of my early twenties and placed me back in the setting of my childhood, I have had the unique opportunity to reexamine my life through the lens of the person who used to occupy this space, my younger self. Sitting here, at the desk in my childhood bedroom, where I have spent most of the last four months, I find myself reconsidering, what I want to be when I grow up, painfully aware that I have most of growing up still to do.

In the earliest moments of this ongoing effort to figure out what I want to be when I grow up, I found myself in a Fleabag-esque confession expressing to a friend my inclination to find someone who will tell me what to do. This desire rose in me in a similar way that it did for Fleabag, the main character and namesake of the Amazon Prime series—one of the many shows I have been rapidly consuming in quarantine. ”I want someone to tell me what to wear in the morning. I want someone to tell me what to wear EVERY morning” Fleabag shares with the aptly named Hot Priest. And I do want someone to tell me what to wear, especially since my 24-7 pajama routine in quarantine is starting to take a mental toll. But more than that I wanted someone who could tell me what to be once I had gotten dressed and walked out the door and entered into the world, all grown up.

When I relayed this to my friend, she paused and said, “maybe instead of finding someone who will tell you what to do, you should find a person you want to become.” (“Wow, what a wise friend”, you must be thinking. And yes, truly she is.) Implicit in this suggestion is the fact that people hate being told what to do. Just as so much of instruction in school goes unremembered, much of the instruction we get in life goes unfollowed. For so long, I had thought of myself at something of a crossroads, all at once on the precarious cusp of life’s most alluring choices between happiness and money and goodness and passion and hard work and fun. But what I was faced with is that I am not, as they say at a crossroads, or at the entryway to one or another ominous and poorly illuminated paths, but rather in the middle of a desert, a vast and dry expanse, thirsty and appetent to become a composite of everyone I have ever admired.

So often when we are young, we are asked, “what do you want to be when you grow up?” but never is the question “who do you want to be when you grow up?” The thing that the former question neglects that the latter captures is the importance of character and the myriad possible forms character can take. It is in character, not career, that I rediscovered the sense of possibility which I thought I had lost.

Influence is something which we often find ourselves under, like that of drugs or the allure of certain social fads. Although, increasingly, as I have been reflecting on my place in the world, I am coming to understand how I am, in many ways, the product of influence and that, contrary to the popular idea connoted in that flawed colloquialism, it is not something I am under but rather in which I am completely submerged and surrounded. Influence serves as the foundation for emulation, and emulation is the means by which becoming the person we want to be when we grow up is an end. In his book, Between the World in Me, Ta-Nahisi Coates writes “love is an act of heroism. And I could no longer predict where I would find my heroes.” Love as an act of heroism finds good company in acts of honesty, selflessness, vulnerability, good humor, loyalty, and individuality. It is from the people who perform these acts with an everyday ease that we can learn the most. And what I am now coming to understand is that I am, at all times, surrounded by these people, my own personal heroes who I most seek to emulate.

A Dose of Influence: Some of the People I Seek to Emulate

Eliza, me, and Margot circa 2003. They served as the original inspiration for this post and the people who I most seek to emulate.

The vibrant and contagious goodness of my cousin Margot who first encouraged me to start this blog.

The colorful, eclectic, Boho style of blogger Latonya Yvette.

The bravery of the women featured (and not featured) in the Netflix documentary, Athlete A, about the athletes who reported the abuse by Larry Nassar and USA gymnastics.

(Ongoingly) the eloquence and honesty of Joan Didion.

The humor invoked by Dan Levy in Schitt’s Creek. (I literally can’t get enough of this show)

The self-assuredness and contagious positivity of my sister, Eliza.

The intellect of Brené Brown which served as the foundation for how I approach my writing

The unwavering support of my friends, even from a distance.

On Becoming

A Dose of Influence: Some of the People I Seek to Emulate