Sarah+S’s+Final+AmEx+2013+Speech

=Title of Speech=

By Leaps and Bounds

=Text of Speech=

Writing this speech has made me realize something: I am afraid of heights. Now you might be wondering, “How in the world did she discover something like this while sitting on a chair, presumably quite close to the ground?” But that’s not quite the point, because I have a fear of falling. Literally and metaphorically. I was terrified of the monkey bars as a kid – not because of how up high they were, but the idea of the impact between me and the ground, even as I loved //height//. I loved //being// up high, you know, when I was secure (of which, I do include sky diving). And my boundless energy and thirst for adventure could not be tamed when I was seven…as long as it was safe, and didn’t break any rules. Yeah. I went places. Subconsciously, I’ve been following this order of thinking my entire life. I’ve gotten so good at it: judging the distance and knowing my bounds. How to handle fire without being in danger of getting burned. I knew exactly how much I could press my parents; I avoided conflict as if it would sear me but bottled my feelings; I always knew the safe things to pray because I wouldn’t have to fear an absence of answer; I even dressed well within the range of the social norm, not to be outcaste by it; I’ve worked adamantly in whatever I pursued in fear of facing the possibility that hard work isn’t always enough for lack of real talent. If I didn’t have everyone’s approval, I was obviously doing something wrong. Sure, it served me well. I haven’t broken any bones, I’ve never faced a severe penalty for my behavior aside from a warning (usually because I’m talking), and eventually, given time, I always find a way to be good at what I’m doing. And I’ve been happy with that. I learned a sort of discipline at an early age (which may have gotten lost in the mix of the past couple of years), and the objectives I sought in fear of mediocrity or plain incapability have brought me rewards of satisfaction and passion. It was my choice to be in isolation, instead of participation, when my friends had any questionable ideas. What was right in my mind couldn’t be bent or swayed by the idea that other people were doing it, or that they might think me strange for having such a firm rejection. I’m not as constricted as I was before (in fact, if you think I’m a goody-two-shoes now, I was worse a couple of years ago), and I’ve even dared to become comfortable to the sting of dislike, and become familiar with the notion of falling on my face. I can hold my ground on my own opinion; I can face hostility for doing the right thing; I’m up for any adventure as long as it’s legal (Because, let’s face it, I’m never going to shake the rule thing). And yet, the fear still lurks. It keeps me from entering the writing contests that roll my way, it brings me to a wall whenever the word “apply” is involved, it keeps me from fully considering an option besides college, it eliminates any career path that would be difficult to support anyone financially or whose general steps are not certain, it constantly reminds me of the odds of publication when I get too excited about writing. I started to panic when the grim realization of an unsolved future came into view. That a time will come when I, all of us, will have the opportunity to rely on yourself. After high school there is no detailed descript of how your life will look like, or even if that future will be stable. It relies on your abilities, alone. No one should be on the onset of such vast opportunities and be staring at the ground instead of admiring the view. No room for the cautious voice, lurking in your head that tells you your limits before you’ve even had a chance to try, a chance to prove yourself. In the American that I will grow up in, I don’t want to see anyone holding back. I don’t want to see anyone growing old in regret because they didn’t partake in whatever they craved to do, for lack of instability. I don’t want to hear stories of people stop trying to take challenging courses, or giving up on themselves because they weren’t “born smart enough”. I no longer want to see people taking in these numbers and letters placed under your name and translating it into their potential. I don’t want to see anyone give up doing what they love because they no longer believe in their talent. Being led with the cautious, self-doubting mind, we cannot even hope to live that extraordinary life we so often crave. And the sad reality is: those monkey bars that I’ve always been afraid of will never deliver a blow that would hinder you beyond repair, hardly come close to it.

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