A Curious Appetite

I am one of the most indecisive people I know. Making plans with me can be incredibly frustrating, though I often try to mask it as consideration with my constant, “What do you want?” or “Do you have any suggestions?” The truth is, I can’t fathom making a decision we might later regret, potentially shifting your perception of my competence and ruining our friendship.

I distinctly remember receiving a piece of advice during my senior year of high school. It was a particularly hectic time, likely tech week for a play, close to finals, when everything felt overwhelming—but we powered through because we didn’t really have another choice. One of my teachers asked how I was doing, eventually leading him to remark: “Maybe you should cut down on all the things you’re doing. You might have too much on your plate.” I naively—and rather arrogantly, now that I think about it—responded, “I have a big appetite.”

Up until that point, I had thrown myself into every appealing opportunity without a second thought about whether I could realistically handle it or fit it into my schedule. Admittedly, this was easier before high school when my school day ended early, leaving me with nearly zero responsibilities at home.

You’d think—and I had hoped—that as I grew older, I’d learn to prioritize. But alas, my ADHD-driven brain couldn’t resist chasing every trail of curiosity I stumbled upon. I learned some sewing to create my own bowtie for prom; I picked up photography after seeing my teacher’s screensaver featuring Steve McCurry’s captivating images; I stumbled into a four-year commitment with a college dance group simply because tryouts seemed fun. Duolingo insists I’m learning ten languages, each a short-lived hyper fixation sparked by friends, TV shows, or random YouTubers. Most recently, a leather journal on Instagram slightly exceeded my budget, prompting me to buy leather and make my own—leaving most of it untouched despite delusional dreams of launching a leather goods store.

Most of these endeavors initially felt like failures. I committed to one craft only to abandon it as soon as a new fascination arose.

Though I stuck with photography and filmmaking, I’m unlikely ever to speak ten languages fluently or start my own fashion line. For a long time, I saw this as a failure—I had no completed projects, accolades, certificates, or tangible proof of my diverse pursuits. I kept reassuring myself that I wasn’t abandoning these interests, merely "coming back to them later," a comforting fiction.

Yet, surprisingly, I don’t regret exploring any of them. Each detour—whether it lasted a week or a year—gifted me deeper appreciation for human creativity, broadened my perspective, or clarified my understanding of myself and my true passions.

I find we tend to be too rigid in how we define ourselves: “I work as X, but I do Y and Z as hobbies.” I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with sticking to things, but there’s also nothing wrong with not committing. Attend a pottery class. Pick a random language you’re curious about and learn some phrases. Learn how to draw one thing really, really well. Maybe one of these curiosities will turn into a newfound passion and you'll dedicate your life to it—or maybe not, but at least you tried it!

So, if you ask me again, "Do you have a lot on my plate?" Yes. Yes, I do. And I fully intend to go back for seconds, because I have my whole life to finish the meal.