(Play the song while reading the post, for Tom Chaplin and I are one)

Pretty much my entire life, I walked around with this deep-seated yet completely irrational fear of looking at myself, specifically on camera. Whenever there was any footage of me, whether I was speaking, laughing, moving, or what have you, I’d be repulsed by pretty much anything the camera caught me doing. I’d cringe, cover my eyes, grit my teeth, and regret with everything in me that I ever let myself be recorded. Of course, I eventually got used to seeing myself, but never actually enjoyed watching.

Strangely though, random moments from the past four years have been replaying in my mind like a movie. Each scene rolls on completely out of my control, and I’m forced to watch. I’m forced to see myself walk onto a college campus for the first time, my face so obviously expressing terror, as hard as I try to be brave. I see myself standing behind my bedroom door wringing my hands, trying to work up the courage to tell my mother I want to be an English major. I see my fingers typing at a solid 80 miles per hour at 4am, my foot pumping even faster to keep me awake. I see myself get comfortable, make friends, adapt. I see myself, slowly but surely, snuggle into being a student, an identity I didn’t realize I’d held so closely until now.

I see myself worry about failure so much I throw ideas and hopes in the trash bin next to my bedroom desk. I see myself notice the stares and whispers about the entitled American who cares more about “following her passion” than retiring her mother early. I see myself crack and cower under pressure, under fear, under opinions. I would still cringe and try to cover my eyes, but the scenes would roll on and on, patronizing me.

But I see other things too. I see myself take risks. I see myself get a crazy new obsession every month and then drop it to learn about something new. I see myself meet wonderful people. I see myself learn patience and kindness in ways no one else could teach me. I see myself gain something that looks like confidence. I’m not sure if that’s exactly it, but it’s everywhere: in what I choose, in those I love, in who I become. I see my legs get a little longer, my clothes a little bit smaller, and my strides, just a little bit wider.

Now though, I see things differently. I’m glad I’ve seen it all. And although some scenes are uncomfortable to watch, I’ll play them over and over again. I notice something new with each playback. I see strength, intelligence, humanity; things I hadn’t seen before the movie started. But I see them clearly now. I don’t grit my teeth or cover my eyes anymore. I open them up and watch closely. I laugh at the funny scenes and cry at the sad ones. And when it ends, I stand up, whistle, and applaud.

I’m not so worried about how successful the movie will be. After all, over the span of four long years, I’ve seen success right before my eyes.

-Nathalie D.