By Johanna Fleischman

It would not be unusual to find me sobbing over the swollen piano keys, or fretting aimlessly over a missed chemistry assignment, or scribbling words into the thinning pages of my diary.
It would not be unusual to find me cemented to my computer instead of capturing memories in nature, or finishing a math assignment instead of laughing with my peers, or sitting idly in my desk chair instead of enlightening my family about the adventures or achievements of the day.
It would not be unusual to find myself at times not enjoying life at all.
I knew I had made all the right choices, performed my hardest in school, and attended church every Sunday I could. I had no regrets, but I had many aspirations.
It was on one of those rainy Sundays as I silently sat through service with my suede boots, faded jeans, inconspicuous jacket, and theateningly heavy eyelids that a phrase I heard my pastor quoting clicked. Really clicked.
“Everyone dies, but not everyone lives.”
It hit me. I had kept reassuring myself that once a college degree was planted on my résumé and a job and family were in sight, I would treasure my life.
What I had failed to fathom was that there was no reason for me not to enjoy life as it was now: stressful, busy, and young.
From that moment, I decided to live. To embrace opportunities, to solidify friendships, to end the slightly reserved and excessively independent person trapped in my body.
I decided life was only worth living if I learned to complete my homework, finish my piano practice, and tend to my lonely pets without a frown on my lips or a complaint in my mouth.
Stress embedded into the life of a frazzled junior is inevitable, but that never meant that happiness was unattainable.
I gradually learned to paint without the stress of perfection, to sign up for classes without the fear of tarnishing my transcript, and to smile a goofy smile with no one but myself to laugh at.
I was not afraid to belt out Lady Gaga from the open window of my car, dance to the worst songs on the radio in front of my bathroom mirror, or allow people to help me enjoy my youth.
I grew to appreciate what I did possess: my family, my talents, my ambition. I have had only one enemy in my life.
However, not even the incessant homework, or the luring Macintosh computer, or that degrading teacher in elementary school qualified for such a demanding position.
That one enemy is the voice in my head that told me my life could not be one of happiness.