I am growing handsome very fast indeed! I expect I shall be the

The immortal poet Emily Dickinson, whose words would one day pierce the veil between life and eternity, once wrote with youthful mischief and light: “I am growing handsome very fast indeed! I expect I shall be the belle of Amherst when I reach my 17th year. I don't doubt that I shall have perfect crowds of admirers at that age. Then how I shall delight to make them await my bidding, and with what delight shall I witness their suspense while I make my final decision.” To the unseeing eye, these words may seem but the playful boast of a young girl. Yet to the eye that reads beneath the surface, they are a mirror reflecting both innocence and awakening, vanity and vision — the dawning of a soul conscious of its power, and of the strange dance between youth, beauty, and destiny.

The origin of this quote lies in one of Dickinson’s early letters, written in the full bloom of her adolescence. Long before she withdrew from the world into her white solitude, she was lively, humorous, and aware of the magnetism that youth bestows. In this letter, written to her friend Abiah Root, we glimpse Emily not as the reclusive mystic of myth, but as a spirited girl of sixteen, enchanted by her own transformation. The tone is teasing, but within it stirs the earliest echo of what would one day become her genius: the awareness that the self — its reflection, its perception, its performance — is one of the greatest mysteries of existence.

When Dickinson writes that she shall be the “belle of Amherst,” she is half jesting and half dreaming. Amherst was her small universe, yet even in that confined world, she sensed the theater of human admiration and desire. The “crowds of admirers” she imagines are not merely suitors, but the larger audience of life itself — those who stand waiting for approval, recognition, or love. And when she speaks of making them “await [her] bidding,” she reveals an instinct both playful and profound: the realization that beauty and wit hold a kind of power, that attention itself is a kingdom. It is the innocent prophecy of a woman who would later wield words as her scepter, commanding the hearts of generations long after her own body had faded into dust.

Yet even in her girlish delight, there is a whisper of melancholy — the kind that often shadows youth’s first awareness of itself. The delight in admiration carries within it the seed of longing: to be seen, to be known, to be valued. But as life unfolds, such longing often transforms. In Emily’s case, the “crowds of admirers” she once joked about would vanish into solitude, replaced by unseen readers in ages to come. She who once spoke of being “the belle of Amherst” became instead the unseen queen of eternity, admired not for her beauty, but for the brilliance of her mind. The transformation from youthful vanity to immortal insight is itself a poem — the evolution of the soul from seeking outward affirmation to discovering inward truth.

History offers a mirror to this transformation in the life of Queen Elizabeth I of England. In her youth, Elizabeth was celebrated for her beauty and her charm, courted by nobles and foreign princes alike. Yet as she aged, she too turned from the vanity of admiration toward the power of intellect and sovereignty. She chose not to be possessed by others’ adoration, but to rule through her own will. Like Dickinson, Elizabeth understood that the true strength of a woman — or of any soul — lies not in being admired, but in being self-possessed. Both began as belles of their worlds; both ended as sovereigns of their own realms.

The meaning of Dickinson’s youthful words, then, reaches beyond vanity or flirtation. It is a meditation on the awakening of self-awareness — that luminous moment when one first realizes the power of being. Every soul, in youth, experiences this awakening: the recognition of beauty, the thrill of attention, the pride in one’s growing light. Yet such power is fragile if untamed. Those who cling to admiration lose themselves in the mirror; those who transform that awareness into creativity, courage, and character rise above it. Emily’s playful prophecy became, in time, a truth fulfilled not in romance but in art. The admirers she imagined came — not in her lifetime, but across centuries — drawn not by her face, but by the radiance of her words.

The lesson, therefore, is this: cherish the glory of youth, but do not mistake it for your true worth. Beauty fades, applause fades, but the soul’s light endures when it turns inward and learns to shine from its own fire. To delight in admiration is natural, but to become independent of it — that is wisdom. Let your self-awareness mature into self-mastery. Be as Dickinson was: first laughing with the world, then transcending it, turning her charm into creation and her solitude into immortality.

Thus remember, O child of time, that every season of life carries its own beauty. Rejoice in the laughter of youth, but prepare your heart for the deeper splendor of understanding. For it is not the “crowds of admirers” that define your worth, but the truth that you discover within your own being. Emily Dickinson, who once dreamed of being the belle of Amherst, found instead her throne among the stars — not by seeking adoration, but by turning inward and unveiling the eternal light of the soul.