Song of the Month: Make You Mine by Givēon
Book of the Month: Spider-Man/Superman Issue #1 by Mark Waid and Jorge Jiménez
When I was a kid, I had an overactive imagination. Really overactive.
During the day, this was a superpower. It made the life I was just beginning so much better. If I was watching TV by myself, I couldn’t sit still. I’d be jumping up and down on the couch pretending I was Spider-Man fighting the Green Goblin in the skyscrapers of NYC with Johnny Test playing in the background. When Ma was driving me to basketball practice, I’d imagine I was going to do a ridiculous reverse, double clutch, between the legs, windmill dunk off a lob from my teammates. In reality, I was more of an Andre Roberson type at the YMCA level for five year olds.
At school, I’d pretend to be a jedi or pokemon trainer or WWE star with my friends during recess and write short stories for English classes in piss poor handwriting that was shameful even for my age (it hasn’t gotten better). Even when I was relaxing at home doing nothing, my mind would be racing. At that age, I was convinced I was the only real person. Everyone else was a shapeshifting tentacled alien that would shift back into their human form when I was around.
My overactive imagination was a game that brought colors and shapes into my life that others couldn’t see even if we were looking at the same thing. I’m not unique in that. I think that’s how all kids see the world. I think what motivates every kid to have such a creative mind is different. One of my motivations was because I didn't want to ask questions. Rather, I would wonder why things were the way they were and make up the answer in my head. My half-baked truths were so much more fun than any real answer I could be given. Unfortunately, this line of thinking was a double-edged sword.
When it was time for bed, my overactive imagination’s way of rationalizing the world would scare me. Since I didn’t like asking for help, I would live with that fear instead. When it was time to sleep, I would be convinced there were monsters under my bed listening for something to attack– like me. These monsters could sense the slightest bit of movement. The slightest breath. They would attack me if given the chance. So I did the only rational thing to do in that situation. I would throw my heavy comforter over my entire body. Every breath had to be delayed as long as possible. When I couldn’t bear holding my breath, I would breath in and out as slowly and softly as possible.
This continued for a couple nights until my mom came to check on me. When she saw a six-year-old-Raja-sized lump under the bed covers, she rushed to throw them back, and she saw me drenched in sweat while essentially suffocating myself slowly. I wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed (evidently), but when my mom asked me what the heck I was doing… Well, I don’t remember what I said, but I do know I didn’t tell her the real reason because I realized how silly I was only after she threw the comforter back.
Looking back, I realize my fun imagination turned into what a psychiatrist would probably refer to as an anxious thinking pattern. When I was a kid, I had to find differing ways to redirect my energy to keep my mind from wandering into sleepless night territory. I threw myself into football, superheroes, music, and media. While those interests were useful, the first habit that truly helped was reading before bed.
My favorite book to read was Fudge-A-Mania by Judy Blume. It was by no means a ground-breaking, history-defining story but it was simple. It was nice. It helped me focus my restless mind. The book centered around the oldest son of a family living in NYC in the 90s. The family goes on a trip to Southwest Harbor, Maine and overcomes minor problems during the vacation. I can say with confidence that I read that book end to end over 400 times. That’s a conservative estimate. Some nights I would read it twice before bed.
I outgrew the book, got old, and found even better, more robust ways to deal with anxious thinking: alc-
Structured routine, self-confidence, high-quality friends, curious mindset, firm moral code, and making smart not dumb life decisions.
Especially during my second and third year in college, I was able to manage my anxious thinking pattern and come out on top. I was proud of the person I was becoming, recognized some of my shortcomings, and instead of letting the fact that I failed at some things consume me, I had relative confidence that I could continue to develop the discipline needed to be better in the future. I had a sense of what I wanted out of my life. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, but I knew who I was and what I wanted in life because I never stopped, and didn’t plan to stop, trying every day to be better.
Somewhere along the way, however, what I wanted out of life wasn’t just a fantasy, but a reality. My goals weren’t just a checklist that I could reference to know I was making progress. I couldn’t compartmentalize my goals from my sense of self anymore. They weren’t separate from one another, everything was connected. Every choice I made could have massive implications on the life I lead and my loved ones. Suddenly, nothing was clear. I felt like six-year-old Raja under the covers again.
This feeling began around my senior year. At first it felt like water dripping on my chest. As more time passed by, it turned into a sledgehammer. Everything hurt. I couldn’t sleep. I was scared I would let the people in my life down regardless of what choice I made. For the longest time, I walked around with this feeling daily. I would push it down and ignore it even though I knew it was there. I’d still make sure to work on being a better me everyday, but in the back of my mind, I always doubted myself. There was one moment where I felt true peace during this time.
Ironically, it was graduation night. At UT, there’s a tradition where everyone goes clubbing until Sixth Street closes. Then, you keep it going at the fountain in front of the UT Tower. God what a night. I smoked a cigar for the third time, I partied all night, I reminisced with all my close friends, I saw acquaintances that I had made over the years, and I continued having a great time in that murky water of the fountain. In case anyone from my graduating class is reading, my buddy is the one who brought the keg to the fountain. If anyone who is about to graduate UT is reading this, bring a keg to the fountain.
After partying all night, it was around 4:30 AM when I turned to my friend and just went
“I’m done man. I’m ready to go.”
Words carry weight, but rarely did I physically feel that weight like I did in that moment. The rush of euphoria I was feeling disappeared in an instant. I wasn’t unhappy. I was content. I was so damn content and motivated. I was ready to move on from college, start the next chapter of my life, leave my anxiety behind, and grow into the person I knew I could be. For a moment, the anxiety that had been plaguing me for so long disappeared. I thought maybe I had turned a corner.
But then, the rest of my life actually started. The feeling came back viciously. One thing about life is that it doesn't wait for you to be ready to keep moving along.
When I first moved to Charlotte, a chain of difficult events happened one after another that exacerbated my anxiety. It was frustrating trying to understand why I was having a hard time handling all of these events. For the most part, the magnitude of said hardships was not different from anything I had gone through in the past. For so long, I thought I was making progress on my anxious thinking pattern. I have great friends, I have a job, I am consistently eating healthy, I work out, I want to continue my education, I socialize, I have fun, I have goals, I have sources of motivation, I have discipline, I’m developing interesting hobbies. Even with the realities of life hitting me harder than ever, I objectively wasn’t falling. So why did I feel like I was? I felt like the 2024-25 Cavs. On paper I was doing good, but something was missing. Why did I feel like a fraud?
For my first couple months in Charlotte, I’d rhetorically ask myself:
In the last four years, when you really started becoming the person you are now, what was the one thing you didn’t work on that led you to feeling like you do now? What led to you feeling like you’ve been at square one for so long?
It’s been months since I started asking myself that. I wish I had the answer to that question sooner, but it took eight months. I thought I’d never have the answer because I was obsessed with finding an objective, “right” answer to that question, but I couldn’t emotionally attach myself to any theory I came up with. The more I live, however, the more I realize that far fewer things in life are as objective as I want. The only thing that matters is that whatever I choose to be the answer, I have to make it the right choice.
After feeling like a stranger in my own life for so long, the biggest mistake I made time and time again is that I let fear deter me from being the best version of me. I never stopped letting it control me. When I was a kid, if those monsters under my bed were real, I should’ve checked my bed or asked my parents for help. I always found ways to cope with the fear, but I never conquered it. As a 22 year old, my fears are obviously a little bit different. I know what they are, and I know that I’m not posting more of them on the internet. That said, I know I did not address them properly in the past. In all the time I spent trying to be a better me, I compartmentalized away the hardest task: checking under the bed. I kept throwing the covers over my head or finding an escape.
One fear that I am willing to share, however, was one that I overcame recently. My fear of going on vacation and travelling. Don’t get me wrong, I was never laying awake at night scared a vacation was hiding under my bed. Rather, I had never really gone on one before. I was made to believe they’re a waste of money. They were unnecessary. I didn’t really believe that, but hearing that when I was growing up made me not want to go on vacation. My first vacation I vaguely remember was Disney World in the third grade. My second vacation was to Disney World again my junior year of high school for a competition. My last vacation, and first real vacation, was to Sedona, Arizona my junior year of college. Travelling was not something I practiced doing. Nor was it something I saw much value in at first. It wasn’t until recently that I realized what I was missing. When I was a student and I’d go back after a break, all my friends would have stories about how they went to London or NYC or Montreal or Tokyo. In all those stories, I didn’t realize how much perspective they gained just by existing in different places. You learn new ways to live without realizing. A lot of what you learn is unspoken. It’s added subconsciously and over time. You don’t get to point to a lesson and say “this is what I learned and where I learned it”. You don't have to try to learn either. You just need to experience a new envrionment.
What I said previously still holds true, whatever choice you make, make it the right choice. If I was going to stop letting fear control me, then I had to overcome the easiest one. Let me give myself a layup. I had to go on vacation. That’s when I thought back to the first book I read to help me cope with my anxiety. Southwest Harbor, Maine was a bit too small to enjoy a week in, so I knew that I wanted to go to Portland, Maine.
All this rambling to say, one of the steps I took to start feeling my life again was to go to Portland, Maine.
🙂
Honestly though, Portland was awesome. I wish I had packed a jacket that was heavier than my linen one, but my fit had to look good even if it was going to be 30 degrees. The food was great. The people were friendly but not in a southern way. The architecture was beautiful. The natural scenery was lovely– I had never seen water such a deep blue before.The speakeasies were actual speakeasies and not bars promoted by algorithms. Any event that I heard of or attended was through word-of-mouth. I walked around Peaks Island. Out of all the cities I lived in, Dallas, Austin, Phoenix, and Charlotte, I found the best comic book store. I got three Spider-Man comics and an Absolute Batman collection. I read through a good chunk of Moby Dick. I met a ton of cool people at the hostel I was staying at also.
Despite all that I’ve been able to accomplish on paper the past two years, 2025 and 2026 have been some of the most challenging years of my life. I’m glad they were. For the first time in a long while, I feel like I’m living my life and not escaping my mind. I have much appreciation for the life I have lived, even if I was under the covers for a while. I look forward to giving myself more to appreciate in the future.
I have no clue what I’m going to write in April.