With my seventeenth birthday approaching just around the corner, I’ve been evaluating the responsibilities and behaviors that tradition expects to appear on September 16th. I no longer have to plan elaborate, silly schemes to sneak into R- rated movies. In a few months, I will be taking my road test to see if I can join the automobile community. I am currently starting the college application process and setting a potential road map for the rest of my life. I am the puppet on the frayed string: ready to self-pilot but struggling to sever the ties of adolescent dependence. 

Though educators, family members, and wise friends traditionally tell high school seniors to enjoy their frivolous, final year, I constantly find myself buried under the inevitable twilight of my ambiguous future. I am fixed on the boundary between childhood and adulthood, and I am a minor who prefers to work instead of play. I tug on my strings and they allow some release, but refuse to grant me full control yet. I believe that I am ready to hit the ground running, but society has placed an extreme importance on education and growing up before one can receive adult privileges.

This summer, a teacher at the Musical Theatre Training program I attended told me that he strongly trusts that “when you want something desperately enough and work hard to achieve it, the universe will give it to you.” I know what I want; I want success. I want it more than anything. I want to be accepted into a prestigious Musical Theatre BFA program so I can train and work until my body aches and I have the discipline to secure roles on Broadway. I want my name in lights.

But it is not that easy. Just like everything else in life, colleges are selective and precise when picking individuals. I could diligently meet the school’s requirements, but my special talents and personality may not match the prototype they desire. Every marionette needs to be matched perfectly with her influencing force, or the strings will just get tangled and manipulated till the puppet snaps.

I am scared of that snap. I fear that one day I will have to sacrifice parts of myself to be what other people are looking for. Ever since I was a little girl, I have refused to let anybody take advantage of me or tell me what to do. I was the tiny fighter in Congers Elementary that resisted mob mentality at the lunch table and stood up for the kid who did not deserve to be bullied. When we sacrifice our values to meet somebody else’s perception of perfection, what individuality is left to embrace? 

You lose the ability to create your own world and are stuck like the ballerina in the antique jewelry box, only spinning when somebody feels the urge to crank the key. I know that my strings are starting to disintegrate and that, if I conduct my life patiently, I will soon discover relief. Soon enough, I will be off on my own and forced to live independently; I just hope that the irony of life does not make me regret my youthful desire to rid my strings when I have none left to rely on.