Through our unique life experiences, we naturally acquire the collective perspectives of others. Consequently, certain words or phrases mold into stereotypical connotations, like “success” and “ivy league,” or “failure” and “B+.” Yet, these word associations limit us to believing without experiencing, disregarding intuition and trusting conventional opinions.

Take the word “high school,” for example. Two years ago, as an incoming freshman, I envisioned “high school” as the door to my future, a metaphysical puzzle that would only solve itself if I always thought one step ahead and consciously worried about how my current actions would affect the rest of my life.

So when someone would say, “high school,” I would think, “The choices I make right now will determine which college I get into and, as a result, the success or failure.” These connotations were all relatively self-imposed, stemming not from family or friends but from societal norms that I apathetically accepted as facts.

With that mindset, I interpreted my accomplishments as expectations and my defeats as devastations. I took streaks of successes for granted.

During freshman year, I coasted. I think I exceeded my own expectations academically, athletically, musically and socially. Such unexpected and fairly unimpeded success initially caught me off guard but eventually led me to think, “If I just apply what I’ve been doing this year to the next three years, then the rest of high school will be a piece of cake.”

Then, sophomore year arrived. Riding the hubris that I had acquired as a freshman, I overestimated my ability to succeed without adjusting my level of effort to fit the new challenges I took on. A plummet in my grades, sleep deprivation, and insurmountable stress engulfed me early on. Despite the fact that I continued to produce subpar results, I thought, “You know, it’ll just take some time for things to naturally work out.” I paradoxically believed that today’s failures would somehow translate to future success. But when immediate failures led to subsequent failures, self-confidence transformed to self-doubt and self-doubt to regret.

My mantra is “Everything happens for a reason.” I believe the true mystery in life is determining what those “reasons” are. I learned after sophomore year that to extract the true meaning of this aphorism, I can’t use it as a cop-out for shortcomings in life. I can’t say, “Oh, I got a 70 on the history test, but everything happens for a reason.” It doesn’t work that way.

Looking back, I have come to the conclusion that there is indeed a reason for everything. My humbling under-performance in sophomore year was meant to help me learn to not expect the future to unfold in one way or another. I must instead hone my skills to maximize the present opportunities.

Now, I am a junior. For some, junior year means “standardized testing,” “honors and AP courses” and  “make it or break it.” Sure, anxieties and stresses are a natural part of high school, and other people’s opinions will always influence my decisions. True, it is foolish to make a choice without keeping the future in mind. But, at the same time, I don’t want others’ perceptions of junior year and later life events to affect my present experience. I don’t want to fear what the future holds for me. I want to immerse myself in the present. I want to live with the flexibility to manage expectations and the openness in understanding my strengths and weaknesses.