Performed at Fourteen East Live 2026, "Nosalgia".
As a kid, I would constantly daydream. I’d dream about my future life: my kids, my husband, my career. I knew the dog breed I wanted (Alaskan Husky), picked out a couch for the living room (anything but leather) and filled bookshelf after bookshelf. I had a life of my design, sitting up there in my brain.
I was supposed to find a husband. I was supposed to build a house. I was supposed to have kids, I was supposed to adopt a dog. I wasn’t scared of these prophecies. They seemed natural. They were the building blocks to a happy life — checkpoints on the way to bliss.
My plans made me happy. I was excited to get married at twenty-two and have kids at twenty-four. I wrote lists of my future husband’s qualities, ranging from “nice” to “big muscles.” I thought about our suburban house together, with a wraparound porch and large kitchen. I dreamed about our life. We’d go to the farmer’s market on the weekend, show up for parent-teacher conferences, go to church and out to dinner after.
I wasn’t wrong to want those things. I was fed the ideas from a young age, watching nuclear families on TV with the husband, the dog and the kids. My own family mirrored that image — my parents as a happy couple, my siblings and I as model students. No dog, though.
As I grew older, I began to realize that this was not going to be my life. It wasn’t because all the boys I knew were scrawny. It wasn’t because houses became too expensive. It was because of me. The person I was becoming no longer fit inside my plans.
I resisted at first, because I wanted to want the husband, the kids, the dog. I held onto that picture of myself, the promise of normality and peace, and tried to make it work. But at some point, there is a severing of what you thought you knew about yourself and what is actually true.
I knew I was becoming a different person, but I didn’t know who. I succumbed to trends, like the miniature red backpack I wore throughout middle and high school, the mustache shirt I loved, the year I only wore red. My different hair colors and styles and cuts. I transformed into what I thought others wanted from me, trying on so many costumes to find one that fit. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t know myself. I read less. I wrote less. I cared less. It was like I wore clothes two sizes too small. Some force constricted me, and I couldn’t break free.
I would often think about the young girl who wanted different things. At least she had a plan. Was I wrong to take those dreams away? My efforts to change had left me high and dry, searching for an ounce of truth in myself. What truths were in those dreams, and how do I sift through?
It’s funny to think about nostalgia and change at this very moment. Mere weeks stand between my diploma and me, and I cannot wait to finally be joined with the slip of paper I used to dream about.
College was not always a dream. My first two years in Chicago brought some of the most difficult moments of my life. I hated change. I regretted moving to Chicago. I thought that everything would be better if I had never left home and stayed within the lines I drew for myself.
I spent a lot of time alone. Instead of crying in my dorm, I took myself out for walks. I did a lot of thinking on those walks, traversing parts of Lincoln Park with my headphones in, sneakers on. I deconstructed my thoughts on religion on my walks, reconciled with the fact that I never had a high school sweetheart, and created my own beliefs and values. I felt like I was finally beginning to know myself.
All this time, I was so focused on finding a life that felt right. What I really needed to do was listen to the person living it. Once I started doing that, my world exploded and my head cleared.
I realized that changing what you want and who you are is okay. It’s more than okay, it’s good! How else can you know what you like until you try? I have had the pleasure of being so many different people. Trying out new clothing, new glasses. Experiencing and being influenced by new cultures and new friends. Finding new things to enjoy is one of the best parts of life.
Change is this big concept. It’s uncertain, but not always bad.
Had I not moved to Chicago, one of the biggest changes in my life, I would not have met my best friend, who introduced me to so much of what my world is now. She has brought about the best changes in me, and I am so grateful that I will get to know her forever.
Through all that change — all the newness — I remain the same in the most important ways. My foundation stands. I’ve risen out of dark and despairing times, become a happier person, a better friend, a better daughter. I could not have so much of what I love now without change.
I’m incredibly grateful that I was given the space and time to become myself. I have walked a million miles on the journey to myself, and will continue to walk. The work is never done, because every day is an opportunity to discover something new.
The future is uncertain, and I am learning to surrender to the uncertainty. I don’t think I will have children or dogs in my future home, but I will have bookshelves, and they will be filled with memories of who I once was and what I once liked, while leaving room for more.
Header Image by Reese Pifer
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