My fight for positivity began last year, when I realized that the frequency of my complaints surpassed the number of cheerful remarks I spoke. As with any other teenager, I shared with my friends how tired I was from homework, my frustration for a project that hadn’t been going well, or my occasional longings for school breaks. I needed to establish that I wasn’t the only one who was feeling tired, and hearing assurances from my friends strengthened a sense of connection and validation. However, guilt festered in the corner of my mind. By revealing my negativities to my friends, I worried that I was contaminating our relationship, tainting and weighing down my friends with my complaints. While feeling a natural desire to vent out my worries, I hypocritically didn’t want to be the person who brought other people’s moods down in a conversation. After all, I wanted to be likable and capable of supporting my friends with a healthy, constructive mind.
I reflected on my days, trying to figure out if I was actually living a pathetic life, only to find out that I had as many, and maybe more, moments of happiness and satisfaction as disappointments or fatigue. When the weather was gloomy, Commons decided to serve my comfort food. When my English essay didn’t turn out great, I had an exceptionally enjoyable class in Latin, smoothly translating a piece of passage that I would have struggled with a few weeks ago. So, instead of beginning my conversation with “Oh, the weather is drowning my energy.” I could’ve said, “The menu from Commons looks great today.” When asked how my day was, I could’ve talked about both my English essay and my Latin class.
Of course, it’s important to acknowledge the negative emotions so that they don’t pile up into an uncontrollable burden in your heart. My problem was that I decided to own even less of the positives than the negatives in my life. Being at Andover suddenly introduced me to a greater workload and pressure to be better, which made me develop a habit of relieving stress by complaining and indulging myself in self-pity. I witnessed other students doing the same — I often comforted a burdened friend more than rejoicing with them for their happiness. However, the more I thought about my concerns, my mind berry-picking the negatives and glossing over the fact that I was pretty happy. Why not celebrate being happy? Why should I bring myself down with ineffectual cynicism? Considering the energy it takes to dwell on pointless emotions, it seemed more reasonable to save the energy for making actual progress.
Little by little, I tried to scout for the simple things that I could appreciate daily. Every morning, I looked up at the sky to see if I could comment on the sunny weather. When the weather didn’t cooperate, I traced back to parts in my classes, sports, or orchestra rehearsals that I had enjoyed subconsciously. When there weren’t special moments to take note of in my day, I perused the Weekender to find any events I could look forward to.
Gradually, I found myself transforming. As months passed, it felt easier to find the positives in my days, and my appreciation became more specific than a general comment about the weather. I recognized that I enjoyed de-stressing by chatting with a friend from home or how I felt reinvigorated being an active member of my clubs. Although my initial strive to be positive stemmed from a desire to be likable to others, I realized that the real fruit of being positive lies in my relationship with myself. To be positive, I had to trust, recognize, and own the presence of the positives in my life. It granted me the muscles to exercise authority over determining whether my days were desirable and meaningful. I came to trust my resilience, always looking forward even at times of failure, because I appreciated my supportive friends, my families, the education I’m receiving, and my life. Being positive equipped me with a core that supports me no matter how hard I fall. And all it took was a simple but proactive shift in focus on what I cherish.
