Chic bobs and stealing Sedaris from my mom's bookshelves: Memoirs on how I very recently stopped being a phasey.

Teenagers are phasey people. Going in and out of what’s hip and what’s cool, what’s not cool, what’s cooler than cool, and whether or not “cool” is even a cool term. I have a theory that high school cliques are just clumps of people bonding over the fact that they are stuck in the same dreadful phase.

I’ve been through a ton of these phases. I’ve been the nerd, then the wannabe, then the prep, then the emo kid, then the scene kid. Phase after phase after phase. Fueled by a lack of self esteem and a desire to be different, I have made changes to myself based on people and things I wanted to be like and have.

Upon realization (over the summer; to be exact) that I was set in motion on the never ending phase cycle, I made a promise to myself for sophomore year: Do NOT change yourself for people. All I have ever done is change myself so I could be liked by people who I personally hated. I am done officially done being a puppet that masks the true me. (Cheesy, I know.)

Passion

Passion is one of those words that I refer to as “romantic white noise.” We hear it delivered from the dramatic voices of daytime soap operas and printed on the front of classy hallmark cards/boxes of valentines’ chocolates. But the meaning has become road-kill on the frantic highway of rushed work and love. We have honestly lost the passion and drive that motivates us to do what we do not only better and more productively, but with heart. If you are someone who dances or has ever watched someone dance, there is an obvious separation between the people who do it and the people who do it with passion.
Recently I got the opportunity to attend the pairs’ free skate and pairs dance segments of the US Figure Skating Championships. The way the couples glided and twirled was beautiful, but the real beauty lied in the routine of one couple; a brother and a sister who (even though they fell down a couple of times) had the most beautiful and passionate routine I had ever seen. Of course they didn’t win, which sort of undermines my example. But do I remember the people who won? Am I writing about the second placer’s technicalities over the third placer’s? NO.

Passion makes the sport. But don’t play it like a game. (lolcheesylines)

Dwell on it, my passionate perusers.