Today's Culpeper Star Exponent Article-
Tuesday night TV is pitiful. Not to judge, but I’m not much of a television or movie critic because I can’t seem to get passed the idea that reality is more interesting than make believe.
Regardless, due to boredom and Tuesday night TV, I watched a movie titled, “That’s What I Am.”
During the movie, a teacher tells his student to stand tall and say, “I am a writer, that’s what I am,” and he himself later says, “I am a teacher, that’s what I am.”
Although this movie hardly ranks on my top 10 list, I felt inspired by its basic moral lessons. I started thinking, what am I?
I write, but am I a writer? A good friend of mine told me, “You don’t have to be a writer to write, you just have to be human. Humans have thoughts and therefore something to write.”
I’m human and I have thoughts so I write, but I don’t know if I would consider myself a writer. I would consider myself a dreamer, a teller of secrets, maybe an outspoken hypocrite, or an obnoxious preacher with little evidence to back up my theories, but nothing seems as simple and confidently put as “I am a writer, that’s what I am.”
As I was walking down the silent streets of Southport, N.C. just a day later, I spotted a sign titled, “I Am Street.” Ironic timing considering I had constantly been thinking of “what I am” since the conclusion of the movie.
Later that afternoon while lying on the beach, I pulled out a few poetry books I had grabbed from my Nana’s bookshelf. My Nana just passed in October, reuniting her with my grandfather who passed a few years back.
I never knew either of them was interested in poetry, but to my surprise as I opened each book, I found a handwritten poem from my grandfather to my Nana.
On Monday Feb. 28, 1977, he wrote in the back of a book titled “Lovely as a Tree,” “You are as strong and beautiful as a tree, may we grow closer every day.”
Not only did I discover their deep love for each other, but I discovered that Nana was a tree.
Weird when I say it like that, but I think she’s a tree in a metaphorical sense. Maybe her branches revealed different parts of her life and likes and all her talents.
After attempting to say “I am a tree, that’s what I am,” on repeat, I came to the conclusion that I am no tree.
I’m too simple in the broad spectrum of talents, but what I do have is this deep sense of curiosity and a sincere desire to soak in all the beauty life breathes. Maybe I’m an artist, a starving artist at that. A starving artist hungry to see the world … that’s what I am.
So College Advice — I don’t know if figuring out who you are is the critical question; perhaps focusing on what you do is more important.
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