"So, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
Mason, only six years old, looked up at Ena, one of his mother's friends. Ena meant well, of course—this was a typical question adults ask children. But it was a strange question, even for a child. The weight of it hung in the air, awkward and out of place. It was strange to think that someone so small, with so little life experience, could have any understanding of what it meant to "be someone."
Mason paused, his little face furrowing as he tried to make sense of the question. After a long moment of silence, he answered in an innocent, carefree voice, "A superhero, a baseball player, and a firstman on the Mars."
"Oh, that's amazing!" Ena responded with a chuckle, brushing it off as nothing more than a cute answer. "I'm sure you'll be all three. Just keep dreaming big, okay? You can be anything you want!"
Mason smiled brightly, unaware of the implications behind her words. He was too young to grasp how empty they would become, too naive to know the weight of what they would imply as he grew older.
But for Mason, that was the beginning. That innocent conversation planted a seed, one that would silently fester within him for years. It was a seed that, without his knowledge, would gradually take root and spread throughout his life. From that moment onward, Mason would never be able to shake the feeling that he was incomplete, that he was missing something vital. He'd been told that he could be anything if he worked hard enough, but no one ever told him what to do when he didn't know what he wanted to be. Every time someone asked him what he wanted to be, he would feel that heavy sense of inadequacy, as if his whole life depended on figuring it out.
In elementary school, Mason struggled. He wasn't dumb—he was smart, but he just didn't care. School was a series of dull tasks that didn't speak to him, things he didn't find worth his time. He was a child who just wanted to play, to explore, to live in the present.
But his parents couldn't see that. They put him in a private school, convinced it would help him become someone better. It was a place with more individualized attention, a strict structure, and an abundance of academic pressure. They believed it would unlock his potential.
"You have to focus, Mason," they told him constantly. "Apply yourself. Your mother and I know you're capable of so much more. That's why we're putting you in this nicer school. You can do so much better. Don't you want to get good grades? Get into a good college? Have a great job? A great life?"
Mason, who wasn't sure if he even knew what those things meant, simply answered, "Yeah, I guess."
He wasn't convinced, and he was tired of the endless pressure. He didn't want to disappoint them, but the words didn't feel like they meant anything to him.
Middle school was no different.
High school came, and he threw himself into his studies.
He focused, he took notes, he studied for every test, he worked harder and harder, yet still felt like he was chasing something he couldn't even define.
The branches of that seed, which had started small, grew heavier and more cumbersome. Every day felt like a countdown. What was he supposed to be? Why didn't he know?
Everyone around him seemed to have it figured out—everyone else had dreams and goals, things that made sense. But for him, nothing seemed to fit.
The pressure mounted. He sacrificed time with friends and family to study, to look into colleges, to figure out what his life was supposed to look like. He joined clubs, took on extracurriculars, did internships, shadowed people in careers he had no passion for but hoped would lead somewhere. Nothing felt real—just like everything else, it was a step toward a goal that wasn't his own. But he couldn't stop. What if he didn't keep up? What if he fell behind? What if he never figured it out?
____
Around this time, Mason found an individual who seemed to have all the answers—Terry G, a motivational speaker and entrepreneur. Terry had it all. He was everything Mason thought he should be. When he saw Terry was hosting an event nearby, Mason saw it as his chance. Maybe this man could help him make sense of everything. Maybe he could tell Mason what he was doing wrong, tell him how to find his purpose.
Mason bought VIP tickets with a meet-and-greet, desperate to finally meet someone who could give him the answer to his questions.
The line was long, filled with people just like him—looking for something they couldn't quite name. When it was Mason's turn, he approached Terry. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, unsure what he expected but needing something, anything.
Terry grabbed his hand with unnerving enthusiasm. His eyes were too wide, his voice too eager.
"What's going on, my man? How we doing?" Terry asked, his words coming out in a rush, almost mechanical.
Mason hesitated. "I'm 17," he began slowly, his voice uncertain. "I want to do something really great with my life. I don't want to disappoint my parents. I want to be someone important, but... I'm not sure what."
Terry interrupted him, cutting him off with a practiced ease. "Yeah, man, look, don't worry about your parents. Don't worry about anyone. Worry about you. You're in control, okay? What do you want to do? That's the question. You gotta figure it out. Don't sit around waiting. Get out there and try things. You're in America, man. You can do anything. Follow your gut. Follow your passion. If you're happy, that's enough."
Mason nodded, more out of habit than understanding, as if trying to convince himself this was the answer he needed. "Okay, yeah, yeah…"
"You're in control," Terry repeated, his voice sharp, as if the reminder could somehow erase all Mason's doubts.
"Thanks so much," Mason said, his voice hollow, not sure if he felt any different, not sure if anything had changed.
"Of course," Terry replied dismissively, already turning his attention to the next person in line.
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