Steady, persistent
The pull, the turn - why must you
take my only friend?
Monday, June 24, 2013
Friday, June 21, 2013
Yet again
Third post of the day because why not.
I've got a huge shocker here: I've changed my mind on what I want to do for my future again.
(You're speechless, I know).
Today, I worked for about 9 hours, mindlessly washing dishes and doing other various kitchen-related activities. During my shift I came to a relatively simple realization:
I fucking hate my job.
As a dishwasher, I guess this isn't unreasonable. The pay is terrible, the work is stupidly easy and mindless, but physically tiring. I have to drive 25 minutes to get there (that's if there is no traffic, which there always is). I spend about 5 bucks of gas each day I go to work. So on top of my terrible pay, it's even lower.
So there, I justified why I hate my job. But then I remembered working at my two previous two jobs and came to a more accurate realization:
I just fucking hate working.
If that makes me lazy, then I guess I'm just fucking lazy then. Working is just awful. It's something that everyone has to do, I get that, but I can't seem to not be absolutely miserable when I do it. To the point that I am trying to find a way to rationalize quitting immediately (I was unfortunately unsuccessful today). The worst part of it all, it was only my third actual day of work at this place, and I'm already having these thoughts.
This got me to think about my current chosen career path (medicine) and whether or not I'd actually be happy with it. The nice thing about mindless work is I can put my mind to work going over this debate in my head while doing it. So I tried to think of what makes me happy or what I am passionate about. After all, everyone always says to do what you love and you'll never work a day, and that's kinda the idea here.
The only thing that comes to mind is music. That's really the only thing I can truly say I care about. And right now I am coming off of the best weekend of my life after attending Bonnaroo. While in Manchester I often thought about how I want to be a part of that.
Ideally, making music as a career would be fucking terrific. I feel like that's kind of a cop-out choice because everyone wants to be a rockstar. But that's not really the thing I want. I don't want to do it to have fame and a party life. I want to be able to make good music, that other people can connect with. I want to have that moment where you are doing a surprise acoustic set on a side stage where all your best fans are singing along with you, pointing their fingers in the air. It's moments like that where you know you've made something magical.
Unfortunately, I am not nearly creative, original, or talented musically enough for that to be a plausible reality (though it is a rather pleasant dream). What I can do, though, is be a part of that.
I am going to spend the next few weeks looking through sound engineering degrees and things similar to that field. Because if I can't be in the creative process of making terrific music, I can sure as hell surround myself with it.
And I'm rambling again so I'll close this out.
I'm pretty sure more people would read this if I wrote any other time other than 2-4 AM.
Then again I'm not really sure I'd want that.
I've got a huge shocker here: I've changed my mind on what I want to do for my future again.
(You're speechless, I know).
Today, I worked for about 9 hours, mindlessly washing dishes and doing other various kitchen-related activities. During my shift I came to a relatively simple realization:
I fucking hate my job.
As a dishwasher, I guess this isn't unreasonable. The pay is terrible, the work is stupidly easy and mindless, but physically tiring. I have to drive 25 minutes to get there (that's if there is no traffic, which there always is). I spend about 5 bucks of gas each day I go to work. So on top of my terrible pay, it's even lower.
So there, I justified why I hate my job. But then I remembered working at my two previous two jobs and came to a more accurate realization:
I just fucking hate working.
If that makes me lazy, then I guess I'm just fucking lazy then. Working is just awful. It's something that everyone has to do, I get that, but I can't seem to not be absolutely miserable when I do it. To the point that I am trying to find a way to rationalize quitting immediately (I was unfortunately unsuccessful today). The worst part of it all, it was only my third actual day of work at this place, and I'm already having these thoughts.
This got me to think about my current chosen career path (medicine) and whether or not I'd actually be happy with it. The nice thing about mindless work is I can put my mind to work going over this debate in my head while doing it. So I tried to think of what makes me happy or what I am passionate about. After all, everyone always says to do what you love and you'll never work a day, and that's kinda the idea here.
The only thing that comes to mind is music. That's really the only thing I can truly say I care about. And right now I am coming off of the best weekend of my life after attending Bonnaroo. While in Manchester I often thought about how I want to be a part of that.
Ideally, making music as a career would be fucking terrific. I feel like that's kind of a cop-out choice because everyone wants to be a rockstar. But that's not really the thing I want. I don't want to do it to have fame and a party life. I want to be able to make good music, that other people can connect with. I want to have that moment where you are doing a surprise acoustic set on a side stage where all your best fans are singing along with you, pointing their fingers in the air. It's moments like that where you know you've made something magical.
Unfortunately, I am not nearly creative, original, or talented musically enough for that to be a plausible reality (though it is a rather pleasant dream). What I can do, though, is be a part of that.
I am going to spend the next few weeks looking through sound engineering degrees and things similar to that field. Because if I can't be in the creative process of making terrific music, I can sure as hell surround myself with it.
And I'm rambling again so I'll close this out.
I'm pretty sure more people would read this if I wrote any other time other than 2-4 AM.
Then again I'm not really sure I'd want that.
Guys, I'm cool I promise
People are weird. For some reason, we try so desperately to be relevant or cool.
The other day I watched a video where someone went around Coachella asking people what they thought about bands that didn't exist, and there were dozens of people spewing bullshit about bands they pretended to know about.
I laughed pretty hard at this video, ridiculing these people who were clearly trying way too hard to project their coolness by knowing lesser known music.
And yet today my own girlfriend sent me a song I had not heard before, asking if I had listened to it before. For some reason, I fought a huge urge to say lie and say that I had. Such a large urge in fact that I almost did. And now I am sitting here trying to rationalize why the fuck I would lie to my girlfriend over something so trivial. Why must I, too, project that I am some all-knowing music guru who knows every good song out there? It's such a shithead thing to do, and I wish I could understand. I hate people that do that stuff, and here I am doing the same damn thing.
Why is this a thing? That's what I really don't get. Is it human nature? Or just some pathetic stunt to attempt to remain relevant.
I don't know.
I also don't know what else to write here, so I guess that's it.
The other day I watched a video where someone went around Coachella asking people what they thought about bands that didn't exist, and there were dozens of people spewing bullshit about bands they pretended to know about.
I laughed pretty hard at this video, ridiculing these people who were clearly trying way too hard to project their coolness by knowing lesser known music.
And yet today my own girlfriend sent me a song I had not heard before, asking if I had listened to it before. For some reason, I fought a huge urge to say lie and say that I had. Such a large urge in fact that I almost did. And now I am sitting here trying to rationalize why the fuck I would lie to my girlfriend over something so trivial. Why must I, too, project that I am some all-knowing music guru who knows every good song out there? It's such a shithead thing to do, and I wish I could understand. I hate people that do that stuff, and here I am doing the same damn thing.
Why is this a thing? That's what I really don't get. Is it human nature? Or just some pathetic stunt to attempt to remain relevant.
I don't know.
I also don't know what else to write here, so I guess that's it.
Friday, June 7, 2013
Me So Far (and various ramblings)
It's been 6 months and 5 days since my last post on here.
I love to write, but finding motivation is frustratingly difficult.
Well, that's not entirely true. It's more-so my seemingly crippling laziness that's stopped me in this time. I have three or four excellent post ideas (by that I mean ideas/topics that I want to write about in detail, not necessarily excellent in quality).
I get filled with ideas, get really inspired to write them and then...I don't. I just don't. I do other things. Usually 'other things' includes playing a couple hours of video games that I don't really even enjoy all that much, or waste time hopping among reddit posts. With the latter, at least I don't feel as bad because I can at least justify the lack of prodcutivity slightly due to the fact that a lot of the discourse is informative (though I rarely even participate, just read and move on to the next post), but even that is a poor excuse. But anyways, I'm rambling. The point is, it's been a while because I'm lazy.
Me
So I find it really interesting to go back and think about who I was as little as 2-3 years ago. My entire perspective, outlook, and ambitions have changed so drastically to opposite spectrums that it's weird.
In high school, I was really cynical and a downer, often to the point of rudeness. If you were a stranger, or I didn't like you, the way I treated you mattered little to me.
These days, for the most part, I try to be open and friendly to people I don't know, and I try to not respond negatively to negative people or situations that are presented to me. I don't always succeed, but I at the very least put in the effort. This was entirely a conscious effort. After some serious self-evaluation I didn't like who I was, and decided that it wasn't set in stone that I be that way and that it was time for me to fix it. Overall, the effects of this decision have proven beneficial, in my opinion. It was rather timely, as I left for college and met new people, who got to meet Andrew 2.0. I made far more friends far easier than I was used to. I guess it makes sense though, don't treat people like shit and they might just like you.
Though, after reading the last two paragraphs I wrote, it's not really what I'm trying to portray, so never mind about that. It makes me seem like this guy who has figured life out and now it's all daisies. I don't know why I chose that expression, I'm not the biggest fan of daisies.
"And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time"
-Death Cab For Cutie
I listened to that song lyric tonight, and it kinda stuck to me due to its incredible relevance. The big downfall I've found with my new, overly-positive attitude is just that. It's overly positive. I have all these plans and ideas, ranging in size, and they all seem great in my mind. But the execution often falters. There are things I cannot do, promises I cannot keep, and hopes and dreams that will purely remain as they are.
Plans are hard, in varying degrees.
Even the smallest of plans, I do not carry out. The simplest thing such as "Monday, I will start working out again" or "tomorrow I will drink more water" just simply don't happen, for reasons which I cannot possibly justify.
This continues in larger frames of time. I had many plans for this summer. I was going to stay fit, I was going to learn several different songs on the guitar, I was going to have a sweet job and make plenty of money. And here I am, about halfway through my time here and none of these have happened. The past month has passed in a blur and it's no small part due to the fact I did nothing of note during this time.
These inconsistencies worry me about the largest scale. I have plans for the future (abstract ones, but they are there), and if even my simplest plans aren't happening, who's to say the things I think I want in the future are to be any different. This kinda leads me into my last section of late-night nonsense rambling.
I have un officially changed my major 4 times in my first year alone, and none of them are even in the same field.
So the rather less than obvious statement here is that I have no idea what the fuck I want to do in life.
That is not to say I don't know what I want out of life, because I do.
When it comes down to it, I really just need one thing in life.
Happiness.
That's what drives it all, every change of direction, every decision, all leads back for that desire.
That is why figuring out my career path has been so difficult. I sit there and think about all the fields there are, and try to think of one that I could see myself living a happy life with. Every time, without fail, I come up empty. Right now I am majoring in French and Biology, with "plans" to go to medical school. Even with this current path, I struggle to see myself in the future as a doctor, and being happy. I do not understand why it is so difficult for me to be happy. Wow, that sounds childishly melodramatic. I should clarify and say I am not particularly unhappy right now. I'm just, at the same time, not happy.
Maybe it's due to the generation I live in. We are the generation of extremes, everything must be to the maximum. The internet is the source for a lot of this. I can listen to what I believe to be only the best music and ignore mediocrity, I can read/watch only the funniest comedians, and ignore the worse ones. I can watch my favorite shows whenever I want to. Hell, even texting means constant contact with people.
I often wonder if I'd be happier had I grown up in much simpler times, being less dependent on the maximum level for a quality life. Or maybe if I continued to medicate I would not be even thinking of this issue.
I do not know. I also often wish I didn't have an impulsive need to publish every troubled thought, every bad mood, every sarcastic undertone to the goddam internet, both wanting and not wanting people to read it.
I don't think I can really justify this as a post, it's more just disorganized thoughts streaming through my fingers.
I love to write, but finding motivation is frustratingly difficult.
Well, that's not entirely true. It's more-so my seemingly crippling laziness that's stopped me in this time. I have three or four excellent post ideas (by that I mean ideas/topics that I want to write about in detail, not necessarily excellent in quality).
I get filled with ideas, get really inspired to write them and then...I don't. I just don't. I do other things. Usually 'other things' includes playing a couple hours of video games that I don't really even enjoy all that much, or waste time hopping among reddit posts. With the latter, at least I don't feel as bad because I can at least justify the lack of prodcutivity slightly due to the fact that a lot of the discourse is informative (though I rarely even participate, just read and move on to the next post), but even that is a poor excuse. But anyways, I'm rambling. The point is, it's been a while because I'm lazy.
Me
So I find it really interesting to go back and think about who I was as little as 2-3 years ago. My entire perspective, outlook, and ambitions have changed so drastically to opposite spectrums that it's weird.
In high school, I was really cynical and a downer, often to the point of rudeness. If you were a stranger, or I didn't like you, the way I treated you mattered little to me.
These days, for the most part, I try to be open and friendly to people I don't know, and I try to not respond negatively to negative people or situations that are presented to me. I don't always succeed, but I at the very least put in the effort. This was entirely a conscious effort. After some serious self-evaluation I didn't like who I was, and decided that it wasn't set in stone that I be that way and that it was time for me to fix it. Overall, the effects of this decision have proven beneficial, in my opinion. It was rather timely, as I left for college and met new people, who got to meet Andrew 2.0. I made far more friends far easier than I was used to. I guess it makes sense though, don't treat people like shit and they might just like you.
Though, after reading the last two paragraphs I wrote, it's not really what I'm trying to portray, so never mind about that. It makes me seem like this guy who has figured life out and now it's all daisies. I don't know why I chose that expression, I'm not the biggest fan of daisies.
"And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time"
-Death Cab For Cutie
I listened to that song lyric tonight, and it kinda stuck to me due to its incredible relevance. The big downfall I've found with my new, overly-positive attitude is just that. It's overly positive. I have all these plans and ideas, ranging in size, and they all seem great in my mind. But the execution often falters. There are things I cannot do, promises I cannot keep, and hopes and dreams that will purely remain as they are.
Plans are hard, in varying degrees.
Even the smallest of plans, I do not carry out. The simplest thing such as "Monday, I will start working out again" or "tomorrow I will drink more water" just simply don't happen, for reasons which I cannot possibly justify.
This continues in larger frames of time. I had many plans for this summer. I was going to stay fit, I was going to learn several different songs on the guitar, I was going to have a sweet job and make plenty of money. And here I am, about halfway through my time here and none of these have happened. The past month has passed in a blur and it's no small part due to the fact I did nothing of note during this time.
These inconsistencies worry me about the largest scale. I have plans for the future (abstract ones, but they are there), and if even my simplest plans aren't happening, who's to say the things I think I want in the future are to be any different. This kinda leads me into my last section of late-night nonsense rambling.
I have un officially changed my major 4 times in my first year alone, and none of them are even in the same field.
So the rather less than obvious statement here is that I have no idea what the fuck I want to do in life.
That is not to say I don't know what I want out of life, because I do.
When it comes down to it, I really just need one thing in life.
Happiness.
That's what drives it all, every change of direction, every decision, all leads back for that desire.
That is why figuring out my career path has been so difficult. I sit there and think about all the fields there are, and try to think of one that I could see myself living a happy life with. Every time, without fail, I come up empty. Right now I am majoring in French and Biology, with "plans" to go to medical school. Even with this current path, I struggle to see myself in the future as a doctor, and being happy. I do not understand why it is so difficult for me to be happy. Wow, that sounds childishly melodramatic. I should clarify and say I am not particularly unhappy right now. I'm just, at the same time, not happy.
Maybe it's due to the generation I live in. We are the generation of extremes, everything must be to the maximum. The internet is the source for a lot of this. I can listen to what I believe to be only the best music and ignore mediocrity, I can read/watch only the funniest comedians, and ignore the worse ones. I can watch my favorite shows whenever I want to. Hell, even texting means constant contact with people.
I often wonder if I'd be happier had I grown up in much simpler times, being less dependent on the maximum level for a quality life. Or maybe if I continued to medicate I would not be even thinking of this issue.
I do not know. I also often wish I didn't have an impulsive need to publish every troubled thought, every bad mood, every sarcastic undertone to the goddam internet, both wanting and not wanting people to read it.
I don't think I can really justify this as a post, it's more just disorganized thoughts streaming through my fingers.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
2012: Transitions
If 2012 was anything, it was the certainly the most dynamic year of my life (so far, I suppose). A year of grand change seemed to be the theme - the most obvious one being the transition out of high school and into the once-mystical world of college. Though the most apparent, it wasn't the only thing that changed; friends, perspectives, philosophies, and even dreams were not impervious to the altering ways of twenty-twelve.
As the year drew to a close, I began to see people look back on their year and speak of their respective experiences, and it caused me to take a moment and do the same. I decided to start by looking at where I was when I entered the year, both literally and figuratively. When I did this, I was at first surprised, or I guess it would be better to say that I was shocked that I had so easily put it out of my mind. When the clock struck midnight on January 1st, 2012 I was sitting in my dad's living room in Hephzibah, Georgia sipping on some sour-tasting champagne and watching my parents and the neighbors play a game of spades. That part isn't really that out of the ordinary. The part that caught me off guard was where I was, emotionally. Up to this point, that winter was probably the lowest part of my life.
I was in the midst of a depression - one that I tried to be in denial about for far too long. I had all but given up on school, finding every possible excuse not to go. I despised high school to the core, mostly because I was frustrated that I had fucked around when it mattered, and going to school every day after that was a constant reminder that it was too late to fix anything (I often leave out the fact that I had the lowest GPA when I mention how I went to Gov School for Science and Technology). On top of that, I had burnt a lot of bridges, had all but run out of people that I could confidently call my friends, and those that I did I constantly feared that I was much more invested in the friendship than they were. Things started to get bad. I couldn't sleep, I would stay up until 3 or 4 in the morning each night and wake up at 6 every morning, only to have the same trouble the following night. This left me constantly fatigued, and irritable, which didn't help with the whole friends thing. The lowest point was when I shut everything out. I went through each day, doing the bare minimum in terms with interaction. I remember my best friend later saying that he didn't see my crack a smile for weeks. I was in autopilot, just trying to get through the end of the day so that I could do nothing but lie down.
But despite all this, I was in denial. I couldn't be depressed, because I had no fucking reason to be. Nothing traumatic had happened; I didn't live a troubled life. I had a loving family and struggled very little growing up. I felt that if I were to admit that I was depressed that I would be insulting everyone who was "really" depressed, who had reasons to be. No, I was just some whiny kid. The thing that finally made me cave was a movie called, "It's Kind of a Funny Story" (great movie/book, not gonna take the time to explain the plot here). After seeing that, I realized that I just needed to man the fuck up and admit I needed help. And manning the fuck up I had to do, because telling my parents was probably one of the hardest things I had to do. I remember shaking in Cracker Barrel, screaming at myself in my head for fifteen minutes to just out and say it. My mom is a very loving mom, so of course she was concerned, and helped me contact the right people. After that, I was set up with a therapist for weekly sessions and a psychiatrist for a diagnosis, which turned out to be anxiety, depression, and a mild form of bi-polar disorder.
After this, the last few months of high school were relatively easier. I wasn't cured or anything, I didn't have some magical catharsis in therapy akin to Good Will Hunting. No, I still had bad days, shitty moods, and terrible thoughts. The difference was I was able to handle everything better. I could take a deep breath, and my muscles could relax after a few moments of tenseness. Well, most of the time I could. There were still a few days where I would not be able to handle the events of the day. These days, I would lie to the school and say I had a doctors appointment and go park in the library lot for a few hours and just put my headphones on and drown everything out (this was easy to do because of the now semi-frequent nature of me leaving for school for actual appointments - no one questioned it).
At last though, the day came where I got to walk across the stage and leave high school behind, forever. This is absolutely the happiest day that I can remember having. I remember the tears welling up as we moved the tassels to make it official, thinking of how Lexington would be a fresh start for me to prove myself. And I am quite sure that this day served as a catalyst into recovering from my once dreadful state. In fact, save for a few odd weeks in july, I cannot remember being upset at all during the summer. I had done it, and so it was time to celebrate by being lazy, hanging with friends, and living without deadlines.
And then fall came, and it was time to move five hundred miles west to what I would call home for the next four years and begin the journey heralded as the greatest time of your life that is college. At first, I was homesick and even considered transferring to a school back home, as I was envious of my high school friends who were still able to see each other. However, after I went to Bowling Green, Ohio with my water polo team, I decided that Kentucky was the right fit for me. That weekend was probably the best of the semester, as it was the first time that I felt I had a group of friends at UK with which I belonged. Learning from my mistakes from high school, I put solid effort into my studies, and this turned into one of the most validating moments of my life at the end of my semester when I was able to tout a GPA I was proud of. I had always believed in high school that I could have performed better had I tried better, and my first semester in college has shown me that I am capable of succeeding and given me the drive to keep pushing into the next term. I've also learned to realize that everyone has their own story, their own thoughts hidden deep within their heads, and that I should not be so quick to make assumptions. That I should do my best to find the other person's perspective, should I find myself in conflict.
Tonight, I was asked if 2012 was a good year or a bad year. Even though it has been done with for over 48 hours, I found myself unsure. Now, after much thought, I can say that this year was a good year, in terms of the direction I believe it has moved my life. I am eternally grateful for my loving parents, family, and friends - without whom I would not have been able to get out of this rut. Even as I write this, my eyes begin to well up at the thought of how lucky I was to be afforded these people around me, and the opportunities that lie before me. Here's to 2013, and after all...
yolo!
P.S. - If you actually made it to the bottom of this, thanks for reading and sorry if it seems like a bunch of ramblings.
As the year drew to a close, I began to see people look back on their year and speak of their respective experiences, and it caused me to take a moment and do the same. I decided to start by looking at where I was when I entered the year, both literally and figuratively. When I did this, I was at first surprised, or I guess it would be better to say that I was shocked that I had so easily put it out of my mind. When the clock struck midnight on January 1st, 2012 I was sitting in my dad's living room in Hephzibah, Georgia sipping on some sour-tasting champagne and watching my parents and the neighbors play a game of spades. That part isn't really that out of the ordinary. The part that caught me off guard was where I was, emotionally. Up to this point, that winter was probably the lowest part of my life.
I was in the midst of a depression - one that I tried to be in denial about for far too long. I had all but given up on school, finding every possible excuse not to go. I despised high school to the core, mostly because I was frustrated that I had fucked around when it mattered, and going to school every day after that was a constant reminder that it was too late to fix anything (I often leave out the fact that I had the lowest GPA when I mention how I went to Gov School for Science and Technology). On top of that, I had burnt a lot of bridges, had all but run out of people that I could confidently call my friends, and those that I did I constantly feared that I was much more invested in the friendship than they were. Things started to get bad. I couldn't sleep, I would stay up until 3 or 4 in the morning each night and wake up at 6 every morning, only to have the same trouble the following night. This left me constantly fatigued, and irritable, which didn't help with the whole friends thing. The lowest point was when I shut everything out. I went through each day, doing the bare minimum in terms with interaction. I remember my best friend later saying that he didn't see my crack a smile for weeks. I was in autopilot, just trying to get through the end of the day so that I could do nothing but lie down.
But despite all this, I was in denial. I couldn't be depressed, because I had no fucking reason to be. Nothing traumatic had happened; I didn't live a troubled life. I had a loving family and struggled very little growing up. I felt that if I were to admit that I was depressed that I would be insulting everyone who was "really" depressed, who had reasons to be. No, I was just some whiny kid. The thing that finally made me cave was a movie called, "It's Kind of a Funny Story" (great movie/book, not gonna take the time to explain the plot here). After seeing that, I realized that I just needed to man the fuck up and admit I needed help. And manning the fuck up I had to do, because telling my parents was probably one of the hardest things I had to do. I remember shaking in Cracker Barrel, screaming at myself in my head for fifteen minutes to just out and say it. My mom is a very loving mom, so of course she was concerned, and helped me contact the right people. After that, I was set up with a therapist for weekly sessions and a psychiatrist for a diagnosis, which turned out to be anxiety, depression, and a mild form of bi-polar disorder.
After this, the last few months of high school were relatively easier. I wasn't cured or anything, I didn't have some magical catharsis in therapy akin to Good Will Hunting. No, I still had bad days, shitty moods, and terrible thoughts. The difference was I was able to handle everything better. I could take a deep breath, and my muscles could relax after a few moments of tenseness. Well, most of the time I could. There were still a few days where I would not be able to handle the events of the day. These days, I would lie to the school and say I had a doctors appointment and go park in the library lot for a few hours and just put my headphones on and drown everything out (this was easy to do because of the now semi-frequent nature of me leaving for school for actual appointments - no one questioned it).
At last though, the day came where I got to walk across the stage and leave high school behind, forever. This is absolutely the happiest day that I can remember having. I remember the tears welling up as we moved the tassels to make it official, thinking of how Lexington would be a fresh start for me to prove myself. And I am quite sure that this day served as a catalyst into recovering from my once dreadful state. In fact, save for a few odd weeks in july, I cannot remember being upset at all during the summer. I had done it, and so it was time to celebrate by being lazy, hanging with friends, and living without deadlines.
And then fall came, and it was time to move five hundred miles west to what I would call home for the next four years and begin the journey heralded as the greatest time of your life that is college. At first, I was homesick and even considered transferring to a school back home, as I was envious of my high school friends who were still able to see each other. However, after I went to Bowling Green, Ohio with my water polo team, I decided that Kentucky was the right fit for me. That weekend was probably the best of the semester, as it was the first time that I felt I had a group of friends at UK with which I belonged. Learning from my mistakes from high school, I put solid effort into my studies, and this turned into one of the most validating moments of my life at the end of my semester when I was able to tout a GPA I was proud of. I had always believed in high school that I could have performed better had I tried better, and my first semester in college has shown me that I am capable of succeeding and given me the drive to keep pushing into the next term. I've also learned to realize that everyone has their own story, their own thoughts hidden deep within their heads, and that I should not be so quick to make assumptions. That I should do my best to find the other person's perspective, should I find myself in conflict.
Tonight, I was asked if 2012 was a good year or a bad year. Even though it has been done with for over 48 hours, I found myself unsure. Now, after much thought, I can say that this year was a good year, in terms of the direction I believe it has moved my life. I am eternally grateful for my loving parents, family, and friends - without whom I would not have been able to get out of this rut. Even as I write this, my eyes begin to well up at the thought of how lucky I was to be afforded these people around me, and the opportunities that lie before me. Here's to 2013, and after all...
yolo!
P.S. - If you actually made it to the bottom of this, thanks for reading and sorry if it seems like a bunch of ramblings.
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