I just want to make it through the day.

I visit my guidance counselor, Mr. Harsch who flails his arms around in circles; behind him, posters are hung up, Lloyd University, Howard University, and other elite colleges flaunt their academic achievements. Mr. Harsch checker flannel has wrinkles, his short brunette hair tousle – what little hair is there.

"Clare," he rubs his eyes, "What is your decision?"

"On?"

I know exactly what he refers to.

"College. Where are you going?"

He's asking the wrong question. That's what Dr. Manning reminds me. She writes on a large notepad with blue lines; she has been my therapist since freshman year of high school. When the questions started, What will you be doing when you graduate? What do you want to do for the rest of your life? Engineer? Nurse? Doctor?

I would say, I don't know. Trying – really truly trying to be honest. Their frown. Stun-look as if I've said instead, Poop Cleaner.

What am I supposed to say? What do they want to hear? What would you want me to do?

"What do you want Clare?" Dr. Manning asks. Her felt pin hovers over her paper.

"What do I want?"

"Yes."

I think about what my parents want. They say 'Good life. Steady job.' What constitutes a 'good life'? Is it a list? Is it something where I can mark it off?

"I have an idea."

She shakes her head. "No. What do you want? Not what I want for you. Not what your parents want. Or friends. You."

"I – I don't know. I can't remember when someone," my throat constricts, "has asked me. Without . . . thinking of my family. And friends."

"Then let's change the question," she grabs her metal water bottle, to take a sip, "What do you believe others want you to do?"

"Everything. They want me to pursue my dream. Like the cards in the store, 'You're a star.' I don't want to be a star. I guess . . . I want to catch one. I know it'll burn. It could destroy me – a real star made up of hot gas. I know it's impossible. I just feel like . . . the star has to choose you too."

"Then catch one."

I grin.

I stare at Mr. Harsch; coming back into reality.

My fingers grip on the wooden chair's armrest.

"I'm not attending college," I state, "I want to help others. Many something in service . . . as of today, I'm going to take a gap year."

"Statistically, if you take a gap year, you'll never attend college."

Fear. He's trying to inflict fear.

"I'll take that risk."

I look him in the eyes. Never waver.

I don't need to have all the answers. I just need to discover . . . allow myself to find out what drives me. My purpose. Things I enjoy and want to achieve all through my days.

That's all I need to do.

Word Count: 496

Author's Note:

I wish someone pound this thought in my heart, What do you want to do? I heard it with my parents. I believe, I knew they support me. But somehow . . . it wasn't until I graduated from college, I ponder this question. With my family and friends' help, let me think about it.

Letting it sink in my heart. Digging deep.

I knew. I was just too scared. I want to be a published writer. And I continue to keep going. Giving glory to God with writing stories. Connecting with people. That's what I want to do.

This story is dedicated to all those who feel the pressure. This social pressure that we need to know the answers. We don't have to. We create smaller goals, dig deep in what we desire to do. Life is adaptable. There are endless possibilities; it can be intimidating, and at the same time, fascinating. ✨

Thank you for reading this story!

You guys are amazing!! Love you! I hope you enjoy it. 💕 😊