The Culmination of my Education

After four years and $28,000 of a private university education, the single most important thing I learned is (drumroll, please....): do not procrastinate.

Even if that means putting all of your homework off for days.

The freshman makes lists of things she would like to do someday. As soon as she finishes her Spanish homework she’ll look up the chords for Hey Jude on guitar. As soon as midterms are over she’ll drive out to the lake for a picnic. In the summer she’ll read The Brothers Karamazov. But not now. There is no time. Because right now she has to check her email 12 times between dinner and bed. She has to finish her reading response and critical review essay. She has to schedule dinner with her roommate. She has to go to practice. She has to go to bed. Eat. Work. Sleep. Shower (ok let’s be honest, that was the first thing to go). Repeat. And blink-- an entire year, over.

Ten months worth of planner pages lay tattered and tired from the triumphant crossing out of bulleted To Do lists. Now she can write an email to a high school friend about all the “things she did” that year. And actually, the written “story” looks impressively productive (as do the myriad of Facebook albums).
And yet, why does she still feel vaguely stagnant? Why does her breathlessness seem to stem from a sprint inside a hamster wheel?

To the freshman of the America, I entreat:
DO NOT PROCRASTINATE. Do not put life on hold for the sake of what you’re “supposed” to be doing. You are not a student. You are a human being that goes to school. So go to school. But live your life. (I hate American Eagle for making me hate that cliche.)

*POST SCIPT*
I am not suggesting that all freshman boys spend an entire semester playing World of Warcraft until 4:00 in the morning. The difference between doing what you truly WANT to do and being a slacker is not always clear. Does marijuana make you hyper-aware of reality or sedated and stupid? I guess what I’m trying to say is...be high on life, not on drugs. (I am such a peace studies major.)

(The wisest comic of all time. This particular strip got me through senior year of college)

Get Outta (or into) Dodge

Shhh, what's that sound? Ah, it's silence. Or the lack of kicking and screaming.

If anything were to mark my adulthood, it would be the striking calm in the air during an event that, for many years, passed as a minor war: the trip to Grandma's house. As a child, this bi-annual "vacation" was dreaded more than the dentist. At least a trip to Dr. Johnson's office ended quickly and there was a good chance I'd get a chocolate milkshake on the way home. Going to Dodge to visit my mom's family obliterated at least six entire days from my summer break with only the promise of--if I was lucky--watching Cartoon Network on cable in the hotel (but even that could be eclipsed by Dad's ESPN).

I didn't get it.   Most kids seemed to love visiting Granny... But what was so great about driving through miles of manured flatlands to be force-fed mashed potatoes and KFC?  My cheek was never literally pinched, but the agonizing table conversations about my ballet recitals and the inevitable "You're looking so tall!"s were enough to incite the same recoiling reaction.

Getting me in the minivan the morning of departure was like prying a feisty kitten from her hiding spot under the couch. I would claw to every last second of home--pretending to oversleep my alarm, intentionally forgetting to pack things in my suitcase, pouring an extra large bowl of cereal for breakfast… My poor mother.  I nearly reduced her to tears on more than one of those early mornings.

But not today. Today mom and dad are busy gardening in the front yard and I am packing up my own car, alone. No one is exasperatingly screaming my name from the bottom of the stairs. No one is threateningly counting down from ten. I toss my duffle into the back seat and Dad hugs me and says, "Now you know that you don't need to break the land speed record to get there, right?" And I'm off.

How can this be? How can that same little girl who would have swallowed a thumb tack to avoid this trip now be driving to there on her own accord? Can she finally smell the roses in the gale force winds of cow pies? Can she finally see the beauty in the uninterrupted horizon of colorless plains? Is she finally old enough to understand the crude (and usually racist) humor of the pre-Boomer generation? 

In 15 years Dodge hasn't exactly become more scenic and Grandma certainly hasn't converted to some sort of hipster senior citizen. In fact everything here is pretty much as uncool as ever (with the exception of my little cousins who are now teenagers and probably the epitome of "coolness").   But I'm thrilled. (Ok, that word might be a little strong--we're not quite at roller coaster status.  I'm pleased.)  There is nowhere I would rather be.