M

y sister and I were born one 
minute apart. Whenever I 
tell people this, questions 

inevitably follow: “What’s it like having 
a twin?” “Are you best friends?” “Can 
you read each other’s minds?” 

Over the years, I’ve formed a sort of 

automatic response: I laugh, acknowl-
edging the curiosity surrounding a con-
cept that is foreign and fascinating to 
someone else yet normal and casual to 
me. I then reply with a simple yet in-
tentionally worded, “Yeah, it’s fun. But 
I don’t know any different, so I have 
nothing to compare it to,” which is true. 
Having a twin sister is fun, and we’re the 
only kids in our family, so I don’t know 
what it’s like to have a non-twin sibling. 
But my answer isn’t the whole truth. My 
“nothing to compare it to” line is a buf-
fer, a cop-out from having to explain to 
another person, or admit to myself, the 
tough side of being a twin. 

Gracie and I have been compared to 

each other our entire lives. Who’s older? 
Lilly. Who talked first? Gracie. Taller? 
Gracie, until a few years ago. More logi-
cal? Absolutely Gracie. More organized? 
Lilly. Kinder, gentler, more thoughtful? 
Gracie. Funnier? Definitely, 100% Lilly.

I compare myself to Gracie, too. I 

think there’s an inevitable tension be-
tween all siblings, twins or not, that 
stems from being constantly compared 
to one another. Older siblings carry the 
weight of setting precedents and do-
ing most things first, all eyes on them. I 
know younger siblings who struggle in 
the shadows of their older ones, feeling 
like they need to keep up with, or even 
one-up, them. Perhaps the unique com-
parison of twins stems from the fact that 
differences cannot be blamed on any 
gap between exit times out of the womb. 

In fourth grade, our dad sat with Gra-

cie and me at the kitchen table helping 
us with our multiplication problems. 
Gracie knew the answers before my dad 
finished reading the question, while 
I sat in the chair across from her con-
fused, finishing out the session in tears. 
My mom intervened post-math home-
work tantrum. 

“What Gracie’s doing or how she’s 

doing it has no effect on you. Just focus 
on yourself. You’re driving your own car. 
In your own lane,” she told me. “Stay in 
your own lane.”

As I grew up beside Gracie, my mom’s 

advice continuously resurfaced. I was 
an anxious and emotional girl, ner-
vous and concerned by way too many 
things around me. I sobbed my entire 
first summer at overnight camp due to 
unmatched levels of homesickness. In 

school, I forced myself to do well, gluing 
myself to my desk chair until I mastered 
the material without fail. I panicked at 
the unknown. I’d pass out every now and 
again, too, due to vasovagal syndrome — 
wherein random triggers, like needles, 
cause blood pressure to plummet. Sim-
ply put, I was a hot mess. Gracie, on the 
other hand, was cool as a cucumber. She 
never seemed to flinch. She was rid-
ing down the highway on auto-pilot, as 
if wearing Chanel shades in a pristine 
Lamborghini. I, on the other hand, sput-
tered down the road in a peeling truck, 
beads of sweat constantly dripping 
down my forehead, hands clammy from 
the pressure. It didn’t seem fair. 

“Stay in your own lane,” my mom said. 
I did my best to keep my eyes on the 

horizon, but I couldn’t keep them from 
wandering. In high school, Gracie had 
her entire life trajectory planned out. 
She was going to study film in college 
and afterward move to California to be a 
screenwriter. She then perfectly imple-
mented her plan of action. Gracie took 
film class upon film class, bought cam-
eras to practice editing, attended film 
review clubs in Chicago and did sum-
mer programs on screenwriting. One 
summer, she took Advanced Placement 
Biology so she could pack in more di-
recting classes during the school year. 
Gracie was cruising. 

I felt like my car was going nowhere. I 

had no plans. I had no idea what I want-
ed to do in college, let alone after col-
lege. I also couldn’t admit to myself that 
I might also be interested in screenwrit-
ing. How could we possibly have simi-
lar destinations if I was seven thousand 
miles behind her on the road? I wasn’t 
doing screenwriting clubs or assist-
ing the high school film teacher with 
his intro classes. On top of this, Gracie 
cracked out a 36 on the ACT going into 
senior year. First try, cold. I spent the 
entire year at my desk, working, claw-
ing, test after test, for one more singular 
point. I began to feel small and unim-
pressive. I never measured up. Like ev-
erything else, I couldn’t help but com-
pare my results to my twin sister.

“Stay in your own lane,” my mom re-

peated. 

But I couldn’t. I wanted to desire a 

specific career path so I could do im-
pressive activities in pursuit of it. I 
wanted to be easy-going and relaxed. I 
wanted the gracefulness that was quite 
literally embedded in my sister’s name. 
Gracie’s decisions, ambitions and fear-
lessness felt impossible for me to both 
achieve and simultaneously ignore.

As humans, it can be difficult to stay 

in our own lane without looking around 
at the others. Research suggests that 
about 10% of human thought is com-
parative. Yes, our individual lives may 
occupy singular lanes, but windows ex-
ist for a reason. There are other cars on 
the road — you can’t ignore them. As 
a matter of fact, in driver’s education, 
we were taught to check our mirrors 
every five seconds. Some cars are even 
equipped with blinking light systems 
that alert you of the positions of ve-
hicles in neighboring lanes. Whether it 
be for safety, for motivation or just from 
plain-old intuition, we compare.

Beyond being necessary to acknowl-

edge, I think the other cars can also be 
helpful. Watching Gracie’s car has given 
me strengths in areas I was admittedly 
lacking in. My willingness to experi-
ment — to go to overnight camp, write 
short plays or befriend different types of 
people — is inspired by her open-mind-
edness. My grit and drive to succeed 
have been shaped by Gracie’s natural 
academic ability. It’s undeniable: Floor-
ing the pedal on my sputtering truck in 
order to keep up with her Lambo has 
certainly been a character builder. 

We cannot simply keep our eyes 

ahead of us. If I adhered strictly to my 
mom’s metaphor — if I didn’t check 
over at Gracie at all — I don’t think I’d 
be driving at the speed that I am now 
or be as willing to swerve around in my 
own lane. Had I locked eyes on the ho-
rizon my entire life, I wouldn’t be who I 
am now. Gracie inspired me to work on 
my shortcomings rather than run away 
from them. 
I 

recently read that poet Amanda 
Gorman has a twin sister, Ga-
brielle Gorman. Gabrielle is also 

unbelievably impressive. She’s worked 
on digital marketing campaigns for 
TOMS, directed a short documentary 
and was presented with the Aaron Sor-
kin Writing Award, among other feats. I 
wonder if, when Amanda struggled with 
her speech impediment, she shared my 
sputtering truck sentiment. Did she get 
inspiration to keep going from Gabrielle 
as I did from Gracie? Maybe seeing each 
other’s cars pushed them along, too. 

Since I’ve been at the University of 

Michigan, I’ve lost sight of Gracie in my 
mirrors. I’m navigating the hustle and 
bustle of Ann Arbor and she, the tree-
lined roads of New Hampshire. Not only 
have I left my lifelong bar of comparison, 
but I’m navigating unfamiliar streets 
— dance teams, newspaper columns, 
new classes (including film) and new 
friends. They say being on the open road 
alone grants perspective, and I’ve found 

that to be true. No longer surrounded by 
Gracie and everyone else who has been 
driving around me since grade school, 
I’ve been able to focus more easily on 
my lane, and I like the freedom. 

Now that I’m on my own, I realize I 

had spent so much time checking the 
mirrors that I was failing to see what 
was right in front of me, and what has 
always been within me. The summer 
that Gracie did Northwestern’s Cherubs 
Screenwriting Program, I was at over-
night camp. The summer she took AP 
Bio, I went on a teen tour with my best 
friends. While perhaps less impressive 
on a resume, those experiences were 
right for me: a social, fun-loving girl, 
without a specific dream that needed to 
be pursued immediately. My road has 
been fun, comedic and even impres-
sive in a lot of areas. I should’ve been 
confident in my route and enjoyed it, 
looking forward and trusting my own 
directional abilities. Maybe one day I’ll 
screenwrite too, and it doesn’t matter if 
I’m seven thousand miles behind Gra-
cie. I’m exploring other routes, seeing 
amazing sights. There’s no race or finish 
line.

Moreover, everyone’s lane gets bumpy 

on occasion. Gracie went to college far 
away with no friends. She recently came 
home due to a mononucleosis-strep 
throat-bacterial infection trifecta. I now 
check on Gracie over Facetime — not to 
see if we’re equidistant on the road, but 
to make sure she’s doing okay in her car. 
Everyone’s Lambo feels like an old truck 
sometimes. 

So I’d like to revise my mom’s advice 

to: “Check your mirrors, but trust your 
own lane.” Glancing at other people 
and taking a check-in is healthy. We 
grow through comparison and better 
ourselves through competition. But we 
also must be confident in our journey as 
well. 

Different 
drivers 
have 
different 

needs. People take pit stops, switch 
lanes, speed up, slow down. Right 
now Gracie and I are taking separate 
routes, and perhaps it’ll stay that way 
for a while, or maybe we’ll merge, and 
I’ll be able to check over at her Lambo 
once again. Maybe we’ll even have the 
same destination, and we’ll both end up 
with creative careers like Gabrielle and 
Amanda, raise kids at the same time or 
grow old in the same place. There are 
multiple lanes for a reason: so that the 
road is wide enough for two cars. I’m 
glad to have her on my road, I’d be lost 
without her. But I’ll also keep my eyes 
on the horizon in front of me. I deserve 
the trip.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
statement

Driving on a multi-lane highway

BY LILLY DICKMAN, STATEMENT COLUMNIST

Wednesday, February 17, 2021 — 9

ILLUSTRATION BY EILEEN KELLY
ILLUSTRATION BY EILEEN KELLY

