I’ve never been comfortable with middles. I much prefer beginnings. Beginning a new project always holds more appeal for me than working on one already begun. I acknowledge that there will be satisfaction in the finishing of a project, but before the end is the middle, and middles hold very little satisfaction at all.
Recently, I came to the realization that my life is currently constructed of middles. I’m in the middle of so many writing projects I can’t even count them, the middle between teenager and adulthood, the middle of transition (post voice-change, pre-beard), and the middle of my college career, teetering between finding my footing and trying to launch myself into the future after graduation.
I think one of the reasons I’m so uncomfortable with middles is that it’s hard to keep track of when the middle is beginning-middle or when it is middle-end. Right now, I am a week away from completing my sophomore year. Is this week still beginning-middle, or has it begun the middle-end? Should I still be losing myself in being in college, or should I start planning for the great unknown?
I am solidly in the beginning-middle of the math major, even as my time at college begins its shift to middle-end. This clash of middles makes me even more uneasy. It’s hard to decide what to do after college when I haven’t taken most of the upper level classes of my discipline.
Middles aren’t certain. While in the middle, there’s no way to predict what the end will look like, but the beginning is so far gone that you forget how to even came to be in the middle. College is a decently pleasant middle, more pleasant than the middle of mental health troubles. That’s a simultaneously comforting and frustrating middle, because rest assured, until I keel over at age one hundred and three, I will always be in the middle of some kind of mental health debacle.
For now, I suppose, I will have to come to terms with my existing within the middle. I guess I’m just in the middle of figuring that out right now.