I’ve been procrastinating for three months. As I finished every other aspect of my application and this essay was the only thing left, I realized my “procrastination” was actually a deep fear of what comes next. As soon as I hit submit, this process is no longer in my control - it will be the beginning of letting go of everything I’ve known for the past four years. My fear of losing control is paralyzing at times, especially when I’m afraid of losing someone or something I love. This fear has never been as strong as it was yesterday, when there was a shooting at my school.

I don’t have class on Monday mornings, so I wasn’t on campus. But watching my phone light up with text after text saying “please pray for us,” “there’s shots,” and “I love you” was the most terrifying moment of my life. In that moment, I felt exactly how powerless I was. My friends were going to die and there was absolutely nothing I could do except pray that the doors held, pray that they kept typing, that those three dots didn’t continue on forever because they could never hit send. Finally, I got a call from one of them as they evacuated the building, and I could hear screaming, sirens, and police yelling instructions. I never want to hear those sounds again, but my friend’s voice telling me they made it out cut through them. 

As I realized how powerless I was, I instinctively held onto the pain and fear because they seemed to keep me grounded. Even now that’s all I can feel, all that I can hold on to - all that cuts through the shock and detachment. 

This isn’t just me - it seems to be happening everywhere in our society. We see this daily on the news, with our politicians, and in our systems of government. As pain and fear spread, we instinctively grab on, because in the moment, that’s all that feels real. The danger comes when we don’t know how to let go, when that attachment and connection to pain becomes rigid and those rigid attachments to pain start to fracture our communities - and tear us apart inside too. 

This attachment to pain in society mirrors what happens in our brains. When the brain becomes so attached to the sensation of pain that it’s all someone can feel, it can cloud out everything else. It can seem like other parts of the brain have died, but neurons rarely die - they simply fall out of use and disconnect. Neuroplasticity has shown that neurons can reconnect and restore the ability to overcome the pain. They aren’t dead or lost - just waiting for the right connection to be made, for the hold on pain to be broken. 

This is what gives me hope for our society: the connections we need aren’t lost - just waiting for us. If we learn to break our hold on pain, on hate, fear, and anger (no matter how justified), it will allow us to heal as a society and as individuals.

As I write this, I can feel the pain of yesterday resting on my chest and in my stomach that hasn’t stopped hurting. I can feel the overwhelming urge to hold on to that pain, to use it to ground myself and regain an illusion of control, but I’m working hard to hold onto the people I love and those who love me instead - and that’s something I can’t afford to procrastinate.

It’s strange to look back and see how anxious I was about something as insignificant as an essay. It seems small, compared to the fear and pain I’ve experienced now. But the knowledge I have about our neurons helps me remember that this pain won’t last forever, and if we hold on to each other, we’ll be stronger on the other side.