The Intrusive Thought

A semester into being a senior in college has warranted a lot of unprecedented behaviors. One of them was being a little too reminiscent of the freshmen’s boundless enthusiasm as if that hadn’t been me a few years ago, while also calling my little brother every weekend to live vicariously through his adventures. Nonetheless, it had been a long time coming that I’d get to experience this long-awaited freedom, cushioned in the endless comfort of free time and doing the bare minimum. Nestled in all of this free time are the high expectations that I might actually do something really cool for myself for once. Such as attending that climbing gym my friend and I had been buzzing about since our housemate in Madrid did a solo climbing trip in Ireland. Or, living each weekend to its fullest because thank God, everyone in the group is finally 21. Who knows how all of that yearning excitement amounted to joining an overpriced Pilates studio and going to bed at 11 pm every night. 

Regardless, all the fulfilled moments (and unfinished business) have accumulated to this weird standstill with just a semester left of school. It’s the beginning of a slow dwindling countdown to graduation, which in and of itself is bittersweet, but more so obvious of what little time lie ahead of the biggest changes before adulthood. It almost feels like the last few drops of hot water spitting out of your broken shower until you’re a wet dog shivering with your half-shampooed hair in the sink. Or, before you short-circuit your apartment after finally finding a vacuum to pick up all of the hair clumps that have etched into your carpet like gum on the pavement. And well, the last few months of careless fun before your friends move away and life in the little bubble you’ve built is never quite the same. 

But jokes on me, my bubble isn’t going anywhere. At least, that’s what I decided on an unexpected whim as a seventeen-year-old in high school in the middle of March. I wouldn’t say I completely dismissed the gravity of a decision like that, but I’ve given my intrusive thoughts more breathing room now than I did then to reflect on the effects of that one choice. And all of that analysis has amounted to some self-sabotaging that’s disturbed all of the peace granted to me this year.

The more I’ve aired out my intrusive thoughts, the more I’ve learned that they’re so individually crafted for each person. Some of my friends’ intrusive thoughts follow up with action, such as crawling out of their PJs during a proclaimed night-in to go out to the bars. Or, succumbing to buying that one-way ticket to Seattle because it gives a short-lived tingle of rebellion. However, my intrusive thoughts are the unearthed moments of my life that drift like overlapping waves on a shoreline bringing all of the gravel and sand with it. It’s fixating on how painfully awkward you are at small talk when you run into your high school prom date that random day at your hometown mall. Or having to explain a TikTok reference you just made to your hinge date, as he kind of just stares back and gives you a pity laugh. Now I wouldn’t say any of these thoughts are downright debilitating to my functioning as a human. Maybe in that one hour of daydreaming, I allotted for it in my 10 AM theology class when I’d be twitching from the cringe replaying in my head like a movie during a lecture on the Gospel of Luke. And there’s no way to make that look good.

But in my eyes, the moments we live through can write our own silver lining’s playbook, and to that, I’ve searched far and wide for the deeply profound significance of everything. Among these include how I managed to choose Missouri to be my place of residence for eight years of my most formative years, and of course, all of these intrusive thoughts that pass in and out of my mind like fleeting cars on a highway. Nonetheless, a universal sense of belonging does come from these, as you can sit in a circle of people to rehash the most intricate horrific details that have hijacked your brain on a Tuesday afternoon. And an often-latter effect is that they’re so humbling you find yourself instantly brought back down from cloud nine to whatever grim reality that reminds you to go outside and touch some grass from time to time.

Yet, an invisible string connects the intrusive thoughts that have come and gone in a garlanded display right before our eyes. Disguised behind are the What-ifs and the Should-Have’s blindly pointing you through the empty darkness of infinite possibilities and ruminating on the road not taken like a forgone afterthought. Eventually, those thoughts dissipate into a forgotten memory, and you realize that they were actually the stepping stones for the yellow brick road that led you to where you are. Those What-ifs and Should-Have’s amounted to hours of wishful thinking and drawing alternate realities in the sketchpad of your imagination. But the road taken, that decision wrote the narrative for something you couldn’t ever think about wanting to erase now.

Like realizing that decision made to move to Saint Louis four years ago was just a choice, along with being weird at small talk and making TikTok references in conversation. None are the wrong choice, or even the right choice, but rather, a moment that you briefly grasp before you turn back around for the next step forward.