Why Hell Ain't So Bad: An Alternative To Following Your Dreams

When I was 11, I had to sit down with my mum and decide what high schools I would apply to. I had no idea what that meant and couldn't begin to fathom what each choice even was. I could put myself in those 11 year old boy's shoes and honestly say that I still would have no idea what those choices meant or even what it was I was choosing between. I ended up following the majority of my friends - we were all taken on an open day to visit the high school I eventually went to, which was a generally positive experience, and I'm sure that was the primary influencing factor (beyond, perhaps, rumours that bad things - such as stabbings - happened at other local schools).

When I was 16, I had to sit down with my mum again decide which sixth form or college I was to go to. I still didn't know what was going on, but there was the sense that the sixth form or college you got into would influence how good of a university you could get into. That didn't make much sense to me, and I didn't end up getting into the sixth form I set my sights on. I went back to my old school at the last moment having ignored the issue of not having a school to go to for most of the summer once I was rejected from my initial choice.

When I was 18, I had to sit down by myself, find universities to apply to, and approach my mum with the list. I set my sights on a subject no one else was applying to, and looked to schools I didn't see any of my friends applying to. I didn't think much of the university, just the course; I didn't really shy away from the idea of living in another city, I was eager to move out and try study my passion. I got to study what I aimed for this time, getting into university with an unconditional offer.

What had changed in me between the years of 11 and 18 was the development of a feeling hinged upon a realisation I had not long after starting high school. I was desperately worried about not knowing the value and substance of options I had to suddenly choose between for myself as a child. But, I saw in myself an acceptance of what came despite the apprehension. After all, the choice had been made; I lost the opportunity to know what else life could have brought. But, I didn't die. I grew. So though I didn't know what the future was to bring, I could have some certainty that I would remain constant: the choice would not kill me.

With this sensibility, I decided to make a change for myself at 16 - to aim for something others weren't aiming for. I failed, and it felt horribly awkward. Though I realised again what I already knew - it didn't kill me. What was more, I extracted value from the path laid before me in high school, and I could do it again in the next stage of education. Things were a little different at 18, however. At 18, I had to make what felt to be a far more greater decision that would affect my whole life to come more profoundly than any other choice I'd ever made. We were told in school of the pressure that was upon us in that time, and it was emphasised to us that it was the most important decision of our lives.

I chose at that time to follow where I felt strong and focused - and that lead me to study film and focus on writing. I did so as that was the only direction I felt, though I could not help but be pressurised by the overwhelming sense that there may be better choices beyond what I knew was good for myself. I was at once staying within my comforts and being pulled out of them. Though, I quickly stopped caring. As before, I reminded myself that I had already made choices much like this that had a significant impact on my life. And in this reminder came an emphasis on the fact that I still had no idea what any other choice would have brought me. So I concentrated not on what could happen, but manufactured within myself a gratefulness for what bad had not yet happened: no one ever did get stabbed at that high school I went to. (Someone did after leaving, but that is besides the point).

As I started uni, I comforted myself with a realisation that we all eventually have: what seems to be so significant in the future, will likely seem far less intense and important in hindsight, so there's not much use in worrying about the present. As much as this can quell anxiety, there is a horror that remains, still, in the experiences of the forked paths and intersections moved through in our past. That horror is in the undeniable fact that things could have gone so much worse, and equally so much better. I've always engaged that fact with positivity, focusing more on the bad that I avoided rather than the good I never had.

Something strange happened when I left university. I was to start another transition and begin my independent work life and take my first real steps into the 'adult world'. With that, of course, comes the key realisation that 'adult' is quite a nonsense term. But, even so, what began to creep up on me was that positivity. Things never went so bad, things were pretty good - or at least I saw it to be that way. I began to wonder: how bad could it be? And I took up the opportunity to find out - at least, in a way. I identified one point in my life that, though things went wrong here and there, I remained grateful that my worst imaginings never even came close to being true. Yet, I felt that make me weak. So, I sought the opposite - to put myself in what I previously would have called a nightmare. And it was sensational; a blast. 

Doing something you don't want to do, though with a feeling you must, is a dangerous game that provides great rewards should you survive it. It has taught me an interesting lesson about myself that I believe applies to many of us. You can find more in what you don't want than your desires. It makes sense, often, to aim not for what you want, but to embrace what you have always avoided. Picture a personal hell, and make it a reality, and chances are that you will find a lot more there than misery. One must be careful with their morals here. We could all of course imagine killing our family. That's a hell I wouldn't frame in any positive light. As said, it should be a personal hell, one in which pain is inflicted upon you, not others. So it is better to imagine, rather than killing, losing family. The simulation and embrace of this could be found in leaving them, getting lost in another country, thousands of miles away. If you could imagine a personal hell without family, and put yourself in that situation, you could certainly find more than misery should you be successful.

I encourage you to look into your fears, look deep and do not forgive yourself, and try to manifest a world of those anxieties and personal disasters. I find this far easier than locating a dream and setting a goal for life. I was raised being told to aim for the the stars and shoot; if I missed you could still end up hitting the moon. But, as a child, I'd look up at the sun and squint; I'd quickly be told that I'd become blind if I kept playing that game, and there never was much to be seen anyway. I've learnt to look down, to search for hell, knowing I won't find it. When you miss hell having shot your shot, you'll only hit earth to realise where you stand is quite firmer than you thought. If you do this enough, when the ground beneath you one day falls away, perhaps you just may be able to have faith in your sudden freefall that you will find it solid enough again soon.