For someone who came into the world as a result of horoscope mapping and shaman consultations, I put very little stock in astrology. The Costar horoscope app on my phone is mainly for entertainment, a fun way to jokingly gauge my compatibility with my friends. My eyes glaze over when someone tries to explain their personality or forecast their fortune like the weather using horoscope readings. I’m a little more receptive to superstitions. I don’t write names in red ink and I always cross myself when I see dead animals on the road and pray for their souls, despite not being religious nor believing in souls. Yet one thing I have struggled to explain or categorize is faith.
Faith — there is a specific faith I mean. Given the talents, aspirations and accomplishments of our student body, this might be expected, but I have observed that many Yalies possess a deep-seated optimism about their future. Friends, classmates, strangers in the library — “It’s okay,” they say confidently, “In the end, everything is going to work out. I’m going to be fine. One way or the other, I will be happy.”
I feel the same way. Even when I am struggling and can’t see an immediate solution, I am always confident that I will somehow come out unscathed on the other side of a bad spot. It could be a kind of affirmation or effort to manifest what we want, but I think it goes beyond that. I think it even goes beyond a simple confidence in our abilities and skills. I believe ours is a faith that requires a leap beyond the boundaries of perfect rationality and scientific skepticism — It’s supernatural.
I didn’t always have this faith. In high school, when I had less to my name, I was more prone to believing that things would not be alright. I doubted myself and I had frustratingly shaky projections of where the next few years might take me. Over the past few years, my determination, hard work, accomplishments and confidence have built upon each other in a stacked lattice that eventually gathered enough momentum to launch my faith into orbit. The more I have, the easier it is to extrapolate my happiness into further futures. I could say that the line connecting the now and later is a rational one, that it is only reasonable to expect greater things in cumulative succession. But, we all have heard enough stories of failures to keep our heads below the clouds. I think we purposefully let ourselves fly like kites on the winds of our wild faith, anchored to the reality of the now by a thin but strong thread of rationale. We want to fly. It’s exhilarating, and we like the horizons we see from so high up.
Who is afraid of heights?
Recently, I’ve been looking down, and what’s below is dizzying. I have a visceral fear of the fall, and I wrestle it behind my eyes. I repeat to myself that my earth will rise to meet the heights of my faith, but when it feels like I’m treading empty air, I wish I could cut the thread entirely and give up control to the elements.
To anyone who might recognize such a feeling, I want to offer some words that have helped me find footing in midair.
Our faith is more than the capricious gust of wind. It is the vast updraft of balmy air that remembers our lessons learned and harnesses the pain of our tumbles and sleepless nights, our breakdowns and panic attacks. Our faith is born not only from security in what we have amassed, but also from the knowledge of what we have lost. Our greatest mistakes and failures are the steel beams that make it possible for our faith to scrape the sky, and I promise, we can trust it to take our weight.
It’s okay to extrapolate, to take that leap. It’s even okay to look down and remind ourselves of how high we dream. But remember; always look back up. It’s okay to put faith in our stars.
BIANCA NAM is a junior in Saybrook College. Her column “Dear Woman” traverses contemporary feminist, progressive issues. She can be reached at hyerim.nam@yale.edu.