What makes a dream?

Recently, I finished the Hunger Games trilogy. Again. I spent five hours in the University center completing the final book, and even more hours the day before doing the same for the first two. Every time I had to emerge from Katniss Everdeen’s world, I found myself disoriented and confused. Where was I? In college. In college to what? To someday write a book as captivating and as meaningful as The Hunger Games.

With this truth now seated in my mind, I explored how college was doing that. Unfortunately, the answers I came up with were a little vague. I’m not taking an English class this semester, and thus far the odds don’t look good for the rest of the year. Although I write all the time, the classes I will end up taking will focus on technicalities and grammer, not content. Is there such a thing as a content class? What about a class that simply gives you a chance to have work you’ve already completed edited?

Then, sitting with my back against the hard, unyielding wood of the bench I’d perched on for the final two chapters in Mockingjay, I was consumed with a concept that simultaneously terrified and excited me; what if I don’t finish?

Though my fear became more violent than my excitement, I couldn’t stop the flow of thoughts. What would happen if I didn’t come back next year? What experiences would I miss out on?

Speech and debate, I thought first. But would that be such a loss? The people are wonderful and I truly enjoy debating, but I only get to debate at certain tournaments, and so all other competitions in between are more just tolerable. Time consuming.

Education, I think next. But no publisher or agent cares what my educational background is, as long as I can write. And I am fairly confident in my ability to do that.

A buffer of time where I have enhanced responsibilities without having to clean my own toilet, cook for myself, or pay bills. See, that’s the kicker right there. Am I mature enough to go out on my own? Will I be able to survive by myself, alone in a foriegn city with some menial bookstore job? The likelihood of me getting a bookstore job is low, I admit. But then again, who says I have to stay in Portand, or Forest Grove, or anywhere, for that matter? I could move to wherever a job opens up. It would be crazy, sure. But ultimately I’d feel better for it, wouldn’t I?

The only thing stopping me from going through with this ridiculous plan is my own fear. It’s the same fear that was instilled in me when I started public school; without a formal education, you mean nothing. In many cases, this disembodied voice in my head is right. Especially at first, I’ll make much less money per year than my college graduate counterparts. But if by some miracle I manage to build my writing and internet careers with the time I don’t dedicate to work (which is a lot less time than I have to dedicate to school and all the other strings that come along with it), then I’ll ultimately be better off. I’ll be living on my own much earlier, I’ll have gotten some valuable life experiences under my belt, and I’ll understand how the world works far earlier than I would have if my path had continued towards graduating college.

I decided not two years ago that graduate school, be it law school or getting a writing MFA, was out of the question. I’d only barely endured the 12 years of public school; there was no way in hell I was going to survive another 8, even if it was private. Intelligent as people may believe I am, I just don’t have the chutzpa to muscle through. I’m not a school person. The only reason I’ve gotten this far as successfully as I have is because I was brought up believing it was the only way.

But the more I look around me, the more I realize how wrong I was. There are so many different things I could be doing. Sure, each and every one terrifies my to no end, but it’s an anxiety laced with the though- “Could I really?” I want to be on my own. Not on my own in a tiny room with a girl I barely know sharing a bathroom with thirty other people. Not on my own constantly surrounded by responsibilities that I’ll forget soon after I complete them. On my own, with a full time job (eventually to be traded for traveling and writing and making videos) and an apartment of my own and a life that is all mine. My own world. Not my parents world, or the public school system’s world, or the “higher education”‘s world. My world.

I don’t think I will be able to handle three and a half more years of school. I can’t take the restrictions on my time, having to complete assignments I don’t find relevant to my life at all. Let’s face it; I might be a little off my rocker and a tad emotionally unstable, but I can take care of myself. Once I get down the basics of taxes and paying rent, I’ll be fine. I just have to get to that point.

All of this is purely hypothetical, of course. But I needed to write about it because otherwise I would try and trick myself into not believing any of this is possible. I just needed to see how it looked written out like this. And you know what I see?

Maybe I really can do it.