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Dozens of Target employees rushed to the scene, where they joined a group of their fellow co-workers and the store manager who were already huddled around a simpering little mass on the floor. That was my low point: flipping out in Target over out-of-stock Christmas lights.

My first nervous breakdown was at 17.

I began my high school career in a fairly normal fashion. I participated in a few extracurricular activities, but mostly I was just trying to get my sea legs in the deep waters of high school. I increased my number of activities significantly during my sophomore year, taking on more clubs and a sport, but I was still within the limits of sanity. By junior year, I was beginning to worry about scholarships and getting into college, so I increased my activities even more. At that time I was in all the advanced classes, maintaining my GPA, involved in numerous clubs and teams, and still competing in sports. I actually did more than I should have, and by senior year, I was way out of my league. I just kept on adding more and more stuff to my extracurricular plate.

That's when everything fell apart. It was the week before Christmas break, and I was in our school's elite leadership class. One of the biggest events of the year was coming up, the Holiday Slam Dunk Rally, and I was in charge of planning the activity. Everything was going wrong, and I kept begging other members of the class to take some of the responsibility off me. Unlike myself, they had the ability to say "no." Two days before the rally, our advisor informed me that she hadn't picked up the Christmas lights. I was almost at my breaking point, but I sucked it up and got myself to Target during my lunch period to purchase them.

Once there, I headed to the holiday section, intending to just grab and go. I already had about 12 different things planned for this lunch hour, none of which involved food (or eating). I rounded the corner of the aisle with the "Christmas Lights" sign. My heart sunk into my stomach as I approached shelf after shelf of utter emptiness. It was like a train wreck; I just couldn't look away. My first reaction was the deep amusement that only a good panic attack can bring you. My next and final reaction was to weep. It was a total breakdown of all self-control. I just sat on the floor in the middle of the store and let the strong mixture of hysterical weeping and maniacal laughter have its way with me.

My display attracted the attention of several concerned yet frightened customers. Then, either out of consideration for my well-being or fear for their children, the customers dashed off to fetch an employee who dashed off to fetch another, who dashed off to fetch the manager. By the time the manager arrived, I was lucid enough to get out some very panicked, very choked words: "Christmas lights... I need... Christmas lights" followed by random mutterings and repetitions of, "Gone... all gone!"

The manager tried to comfort me in every way possible by telling me they were expecting a shipment by Saturday, and when I sobbed about that being too late, he told me that he was sending one of his employees to the store across the street for some Christmas lights. In my crumbled state, however, I was absolutely convinced that nothing would do any good, and if I couldn't get the lights at Target, my mission was a failure.

The employees and the manager stayed with me until I had myself under enough control to walk; then they helped me to my car. On my way home, I did a lot of thinking about the episode and why I reacted the way I did. The fact of the matter was that I'd stretched myself too thin. I was so concerned about not messing up and "getting the most out of my time" that I forgot how to enjoy the time I had.

It was time for a shift in focus -- a complete 180. I decided to start doing things because I enjoyed them, not because they would look good on a resume. This wasn't an easy shift to make, and it didn't happen overnight. It involved much weeping and gnashing of teeth, as I allowed my precious projects to be ripped from my hands. One of the first things I had to learn was to step back and realize that if something wasn't as good as it could be, it wasn't necessarily my job to fix it.

It's a slow process and I'm still going through it. I just have to stop and ask myself that famous question: "What's my motivation?" Once I shifted my attitude, I found that I could continue with all my activities at a much lower stress level. Now, I have wonderful memories of all the activities I participated in at high school, and I'm enjoying those memories from my dorm room at George Fox University (Newberg, OR), where I'm studying communication arts with an emphasis in theater.

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