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Midnight Music Confessions
Black Water/Kung Fu
November 1974 and more
To try to name all the unsettling experiences in one’s lifetime would trouble the nerves, the waves, and whatever atmospheric disturbances already exist. But when I think back to the major transition periods of my life, one screams — in that teen-thriller-flick-sort-of-way — for constant recognition.
Even though I have the diploma to prove it, when I graduated high school in 1974, it didn’t feel real. Not in that “we finally made it” utterance you hear forever and a day on that day, but in the “Am I supposed to be grown and in charge of myself now?” feeling.
Is this the seed of our imposter syndrome, the spring of our discontent?
Three months of a working summer break and then heading off to college might offer some degree of freedom, though it’s too much for some of us. I remember sitting in my freshman English class with Mrs. Fuller thinking for sure that someone was about to send me out in the hall for speaking to the girl across from me. Or more significantly, Mrs. Fuller might read my first composition and tell me that,
“You’re not ready for college yet.”
Double that fear for my intermediate Spanish class.