The Handbook / Chapter 12

Searching | Miles

Photo by Joshua Sortino on Unsplash

Have you ever wished you could stop time? Like when you find yourself in an idyllic setting surrounded by your favorite people? Maybe that’s what makes it perfect, knowing it can’t last. All we can do is soak it in and appreciate it as much as possible. I’ve asked myself many times to memorize a moment so I can savor it later on but it never quite works.

We’re resigned to change. Whether we bring it on ourselves or it hits from out of nowhere, it’s never far away. Fighting it is useless. Embracing it is hard. Maybe the best we can do is accept and change along with it, to bend rather than break. There are those occasions when we’re in the zone, moving through time in perfect sync. But those moments are rare. Sometimes writing feels like that for me.

From the time we’re born until we reach adulthood, our bodies undergo a non-stop physical transformation. Parents keep a running record of their children’s growth in penciled lines on a door frame. Before our brains are fully formed we’re flooded with hormones that turn us into someone hardly recognizable. We not only know change, we embody it.

So it should be no big deal locating a story that takes us through a significant one. So long as we come out the other side, our reader will want to know about it.

Meet Miles, clear-eyed and relaxed. He attends an alternative high school in California, one designed to allow students a lot of latitude in their approach to learning. He tells me he’s happy there, more so than his previous school where he felt ill-matched and out of place. The conventional curriculum and conservative rules felt restrictive and unhealthy.

He describes himself as having been a searcher, dipping into an activity, discovering it to be lacking, and quickly moving on to the next. He would go from utterly absorbed, almost obsessive, to cynical and dismissive. He felt a restlessness, consumed with finding something to which he could commit completely, master its skills, and be defined by. Overweight as a kid, he suffered at the hands of the bullies who belittled him. This surprises me because he seems so athletic and fit. He laughs when I point this out.

It wasn’t always that way, he assures me.

PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS | MILES

CALM

JEALOUS

COMPETITIVE

LEADERSHIP

DEMANDING

FOCUSSED

AVID LEARNER

CONFIDENT

FOLLOW THROUGH

FEARLESS

Looking back, he sees himself as a bit lost, on a frantic search for identity. Why did everyone else seem so sure, so fully formed? His insecurity wouldn’t let him see that he was just one of countless kids masquerading through phases, posing in one role or another, trying on various costumes to see if any fit.

I feel again the pain so many kids experience growing up. I want to reach back into the past and pluck out the doubt, to reassure him he’s doing fine. But, of course, that’s impossible. I have to focus my energies on supporting him now. His searching is by no means over.

I mention that he seems so calm. He laughs.

I’ve got you fooled.

One thing he omits in recounting his various endeavors is how much he knows about them. Regaled with his stories about skateboarding and boxing, I’m amazed by the level of detail— the total recall of routines, practice regimens, and terminology. He doesn’t give himself credit for the expertise he has accumulated along the way. This is one thing I’m good at. I ask him to acknowledge the wisdom he has acquired. He sheepishly agrees to try.

When at last he gets far enough along the timeline to reach his latest fascination, he tells a story that is so winning it almost sings. He loves to sew. He loves to design, create with his own hands, and sell custom made clothing online. When our conversations trace back to his earliest brushes with fashion, we both accept that the search for a topic may officially be over.

PERSONAL STATEMENT | MILES

The night before my first day of 10th grade, I laid out my planned wardrobe: black zip-up hoodie, black tee, black jeans, black boots. I thought it made me look like a rock star. Colors were out of the question. Color drew attention, which I wanted desperately but was deathly afraid of. I wanted to look cool without trying. Goth, but not quite. No makeup, painted nails, or spiky hair. I didn't dare.

What I hadn't planned on was a 100+ degree heat wave. By the time I got to school, I was drenched in sweat.

Three months later, the Goth lite get-up was gone. In its place was a bare midriff Green Day tee shirt, sagging cargo pants, and exposed yellow plaid boxers. The shoes were the weirdest part— huge black leather boots with 3-inch soles and metal detail wrapping all around.

At this point, I got the worst haircut of my life. Unevenly shaved on the sides, the top chopped and dyed white, yellow, and one streak of turquoise. I was no longer afraid of attracting attention.

Looking back on it, I was just another teenager flailing around, trying to figure out who I was, changing my wardrobe like an actor, switching characters, and never giving any thought to my real motivation.

One day, I caught a glimpse of it. I was folding laundry, wondering why I was wasting my time on my wardrobe instead of focusing on thousands of skills I actually wanted to master. But first I had to address my lack of discipline— diet, schedule, and sleep. I changed my diet entirely and built sleep into my schedule.

I joined a local gym to test my budding interest in boxing. All it took was one beat down to realize how much I had to learn. In the two years since, my coaches and teammates have helped me see what real discipline looks like. In the ring no one cares what you're wearing.

Next came skateboarding which I practiced obsessively. After a series of victories came a slew of injuries. I lost interest.

I channeled my fascination with fashion into a business selling handmade garments. I bought a sewing machine and borrowed fabric scissors and needles from the school hand-sewing class. I paid close attention to trends. Within days I was selling deconstructed denim to eager indie teenager girls. I started dumpster diving for remnants of fabric. Every scrap I collected found its way into a future product. My page amassed a small but passionate following. Although I received plenty of criticism, I learned so much from it; I lost no confidence and it only fueled me. I was diligent in growing my business, always striving for more. Every bit of profit is reinvested.

Maybe the best part is feeling like I’m forming as a person. I don’t really think much about what I wear. When you’re concentrating on filling a rush order, you don’t have time to care.

Malcolm Gladwell says it takes 10,000 hours to master any skill and I know I have a long way to go. I’ll take whatever difficulties come because of the satisfaction I feel when I'm absorbed in sewing denim. I have fallen in love with the process.

College is the next step in the journey. There will be times I’ll fall flat on my face and I’ll have to get up again. There is too much I want to know. I embrace humility, it's a sign of originality. True progress is not made from the outside in, but from the inside out.

Now when I see a 10th grader wearing fake Louis Vuitton and sagging their pants I can’t help but chuckle. But I don’t ridicule them. I’ve been there. Two short years ago I thought that the clothes make the man but I had it backwards.

I make the clothes.

End.

Miles’ meticulous depiction of his first-day-of-school outfit shows us the power of sense memory. Few things are as effective and immediate in engaging a reader. His description of the post-Goth costume brought back memories of my own sons. If anything in your story is similarly tied to color, taste, smell, sound, or touch, take the time to describe it in such a way as to make us experience it as you did. Transport us to the place you want us to see. Let usl feel what you felt.

Your reader wants to know what you have been through and the steps that have led you to a better understanding of yourself. If you can achieve the level of honesty and vulnerability Miles has, I applaud you.

I will never not marvel at this. The same insecurities that beset us, weaken us, and make us doubt our worth are the very things that, when confronted, empower, vindicate, and enable us to grow.

We take turns rereading his essay out loud. The quality of our laughter is exquisite. Owning up to his profuse sweating, hideous haircut, extruding buttocks, and feeble posturing, Miles is as proud as I’ve ever seen him. Does he mind having portrayed himself as a buffoon? Hardly. He wears it like a badge of honor. No one can diminish him for what he has bravely acknowledged and chronicled in a gift to others. Comparing his new acceptance to his earlier fear and insecurity is a thing of beauty.

The personal growth I have witnessed in this young man is all the evidence I need that this process is an indispensable part of a student’s journey forward. What is the story that will reveal your particular truth? You alone will decide. I urge you to get the advice of someone you truly trust in making the determination of what, and how much, to reveal. Finding the right balance is key.

I have no evidence of how his essay was received in admissions offices. Considering he was admitted Early Decision to his number one college, I have to assume that whomever read it reacted similarly— that Miles is someone you want among your student body. The self-knowledge and humility he shows is undeniable. The bumps in his transcript did not disrupt his decision. Looking at the whole applicant, they became secondary. Who you are takes precedence over everything else.