Walking bravely onto the stage, I firmly grasp at the script in my sweating palms. Today is the day. I’ve come to talk about breaking free from self-limiting beliefs to become the best version of yourself. In a world where it’s considered ‘cool’ to be uninterested in self-improvement, choosing this topic for my final English assessment before graduation felt like an aggressive act of belligerence. A slap in the face to popular culture. Yet in this very moment as my legs threaten to collapse under the weight of my audience’s mocking glare, my rebellion is slowly morphing into a paralysing sense of terror. The paradox between intention and outward appearance is almost laughable.
Looking out into the crowd, skepticism and defiance were carved into the contours of my classmates’ expressions. This school, this district, has always been a tough place. Faith and hope have never come easy for those of us who live here. “What’s the matter? Forgot your lines?” A derisive laugh escapes from the back of the crowd, permeating the room. Suddenly, I feel it. That familiar red-hot flush of shame and defeat rises from the pit of my stomach into my cheekbones. My straight back begins to waver, curling into a half-moonlike slouch. My friends were right. This is too hard. I should have just chosen one of the regular topics. Who wants to hear about success anyway?
Subconsciously, involuntarily, my left foot shirks back one small step. I’m not ready…get me out of here. As if on cue, another classmate yells out his victory. “Awww….too bad smartie. A pity you’re such a coward. We could’ve been friends.” Then, holding the assessment task criteria, he raises his right arm and rips it up before dropping it to the floor. “Failure. That’s what you are.”
I didn’t dare look up. Where is my teacher? Why isn’t she defending me? Why?!! Silence reigns the room. Everybody is waiting to see what my response will be. Briefly, out of the far-right corner of the room, I feel the energy of a pair of eyes watching me even more intently than the rest. It is my teacher. She is observing me, testing me. How would I respond?
In that moment, I realise I’m not a child anymore. I’m 17, about to become a legal adult in one month and be thrown out into the world. Electrified with fear but adamant to march on nonetheless, I raise my eyebrows in contempt of the naysayers whose arrogant self-assuredness is blatantly obvious in their piercing stare. I am faced with a proposition from the opposition: to speak the truth or to flee? To do what is right, or what is expedient? Suddenly, I hear the voice of my debating team coach, who was always crazily quoting Les Brown:
In order to do something you’ve never done, you’ve got to become someone you’ve never been. I think that all of us have great potential within us, but greatness is a choice; it’s not our destiny. And in the pursuit of our dreams we are introduced to trials, failures and disappointments, which take us to the door of discovery and greatness. Too many of us are not living our dreams because we are living our fears.
A serene stillness washes over me; everything becomes crystal clear as the candle of my willpower begins to burn once again, its luminescence a contagious, creative glow that seems to curtail even the most recalcitrant naysayer. I am going to give this speech, because that is who I am. I take the road less traveled, walking the gravel until the dirt is packed and sturdy enough for those to follow. The journey may be long and winding with no definitive route to my destination, but I choose this. I choose to manifest my dreams, not my fears. THIS is the choice I make.
