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ccio cute and short intoductory sentence.

This week, I created a new account on J.K. Rowling’s Pottermore website because I wanted to figure out what my patronus was. I’ve been having a terrible week, and I had a hard time thinking of my most happy moment. However, I answered all of the questions as quickly as I could, mainly because the screen was directing me to do so, and apparently, my patronus takes the shape of a fox. I don’t really know if that’s accurate or not. You tell me.

One night this past summer, I created, deleted and recreated my Pottermore account at least 20 times just because it was giving me a different answer every time I took the Hogwarts house quiz. After all of that trouble, I still ended up self-identifying as a Gryffindor based on another arbitrary label: my Myers-Briggs personality type. Remus Lupin was an INFJ like me, and he was a Gryffindor, so I guess that would make me a Gryffindor too.

Why does any of this fictional nonsense matter? It doesn’t and it shouldn’t, yet I’ve spent way too much of my time attempting to figure out what I am instead of just being who I am.

Labels make it easier to identify someone by group or by category. For example, I’m instantly identified by “in Delta Nu,” “opinions editor,” “has a big rose tattoo on her forearm” and “wears dad glasses.” However, I’ve found that labels really do more harm than good.

Rarely does each person from a group think or act in the same way. I admit there will be some people who actually represent the stereotype for a group, but taking the characteristics of those select few people and assuming that all people in that group fit that mold can be very harmful. This leads people into thinking that they need to conform to be a part of the group and setting up an unattainable ideal for themselves.

Even in a magical world, identity isn’t static. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the chosen one, the Horcrux He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (or Voldemort, for those who aren’t afraid to say his name out loud) never intended to make could have been a Slytherin. When he arrived at Hogwarts and donned the Sorting Hat, he closed his eyes and quietly muttered, “Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin.” The magical hat listened to his wishes and sorted him into Gryffindor instead. Harry himself could have been in two different houses.

This all may seem hypocritical coming from yours truly, who awards herself pop punk points when she does something even remotely pop punk, like riding her skateboard or eating pizza. In this system, much like the TV show “Whose Line is it Anyway,” everything is made up and the points don’t matter, but I suppose constantly questioning my pop punk cred is one of my flaws. I shouldn’t be eating pizza because it’s the hip thing to do and in line with my stereotype. I should be eating pizza because greasy cheese is comforting and tastes good.

You are not your school. You are not your major. You are not your social club. You are not the music you listen to. You are not the clothes you wear. You are you. Quit trying to fit into a mold of what you’re supposed to be and just be unequivocally you. Quit trying to figure out who you are and just live.