We finished reading The Great Gatsby in our English 11 class, and it’s now my favorite book. I love it when books have endless amounts of details to analyze, and The Great Gatsby is certainly one of those books. Almost every word has some significance to it. In fact, I loved the book so much that my family and I took a trip to New York to go watch the Broadway production of it. They did a wonderful job portraying the main ideas of the plot, despite the fact that it’d probably be impossible for them to encapsulate every single detail from the book in a musical production given how many there are.

When I first read The Great Gatsby, I thought Gatsby’s story was just about chasing love and the American Dream, but as I dug deeper, I realized that his biggest obstacle wasn’t society—it was himself. His wealth, his idealism, and even his obsessive need for perfection all created a barrier between him and the people he most wanted to reach.

I noticed that Gatsby’s social awkwardness comes from his need to appear wealthy and important. He throws these grand parties, but he doesn’t actually talk to anyone. People show up, but they’re there for business, not for him. It made me think about the times I’ve tried too hard to make an impression or focused too much on how I’m perceived, only to miss the chance to form a real connection. Gatsby sends Lucille a brand-new dress to avoid “trouble,” but that’s not friendship—that’s a transaction. I’m realizing that when we’re too focused on how we present ourselves, we might end up pushing people further away, just like Gatsby did.

His desperate need to make everything perfect, like the freshly cut grass, the mountain of flowers, his silver shirt and gold tie, reveals how insecure he really is. I see that in myself sometimes. I’ve had moments where I thought if I just said the right thing, wore the right outfit, or controlled every little detail, I could make something turn out the way I wanted. But Gatsby’s story shows that no amount of preparation can guarantee reality will match the fantasy. His panic when Daisy is just two minutes late to their reunion hit me especially hard. I’ve felt that fear, especially on stage when I’m performing. The kind where you think one small slip will make everything fall apart. It made me realize how tightly I sometimes grip my own expectations, and how much that can keep me from actually enjoying the moment when it finally arrives.

Gatsby’s refusal to let go of the past is another part that really made me reflect. Even when he meets Daisy’s daughter, he tries to act like she doesn’t exist. It’s like he’s fighting reality with every bit of his imagination. Sometimes I also hold onto an idealized version of something or someone, even when all the signs are telling me to let go. Gatsby’s inability to accept Daisy’s new life reminded me that sometimes, I’ve been so stuck in my own vision of what things should be that I’ve ignored what they are. It’s hard to face the idea that some dreams can’t be reclaimed. But maybe it’s harder to admit when you’re the one holding yourself hostage to the past.

Even George Wilson’s breakdown over Myrtle’s death made me think about the ways grief can cloud judgment. His desperation makes him believe lies and accept impossible explanations. He convinces himself of things just because they give his pain somewhere to go. It made me wonder: when I’ve been hurt or disappointed, have I ever latched onto an easy explanation, just to feel like I have control over something? Maybe sometimes, it’s more comforting to believe a convenient lie than to sit with the messy truth.

The Great Gatsby left me with more questions than answers, but that’s what I love about it. It challenged me to think about the ways I chase perfection, cling to the past, and try to control what’s ultimately out of my hands. Most of all, it reminded me that real connection isn’t about appearances or careful planning. It’s about being honest enough to let people see you as you really are, imperfections and all.