Mind of a Twenty-Something

Blue: a color, an emotion. The color of your best friend’s prom dress 4 months before she moves away to college. The color of your baby boy’s nursery and all of his tiny little outfits; the way you feel when you’re painting over that color when your baby is no longer a baby. The color of your grandmother’s eyes that you wish you had inherited. The color of your soul when you’re at your saddest. Alternatively, the color of the ocean, the color of a happy clear sky. The color that comes in an endless number of shades.
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Happiness is the first warm day of the year, windows open, a clean house, and candles burning. A cozy bed after a long day, breathing through your nose after a head cold, a rainbow after a storm. Happiness is holding a toddler’s hand, hugging your grandpa, taking pictures with your cousin. A long loving relationship full of silliness and sweets, a comfortable friendship. Waking up early on Christmas morning, staying up all night on New Year’s Eve. An A on a test you’ve studied hard for, and a pineapple whip to celebrate. Your parents telling you they’re proud, a sibling looking up to your accomplishments. A day on the river, a night in a backyard pool. A full tank of gas, a fully charged iPod, your bank account on payday. A brand new CD, a concert from the nosebleeds, a meet and greet with your favorite band. Sunshine on your skin, sand in your hair, and shoeless feet. Sparklers on the fourth of July, a barbecue on labor day.
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Science has always shown that stress is bad for your health. But the truth is, it’s all how you perceive it. If you experience stress and tell yourself “oh man I’m going to die from this. This is not healthy, I am so stressed out, I am so sick, this is going to kill me,” then you ARE at an increased risk of disease and even death due to stress. However, if you don’t think of it as a killer, and you use it to motivate you, it will have less of a physical effect on you.

I am in a constant conflict with time. How long am I going to be in school? How am I going to be able to work a job AND get straight A’s? How can I fit as many classes into one semester without overwhelming myself so that I can graduate sooner? When was that deadline, again? How am I going to be able to study for all of those tests in the same week? If I’m working and going to class all day and most of the night, how am I going to have time to study and finish my homework? How do I prioritize my spare time to include my baby sister, my boyfriend, my grandpa, AND my friends? How can I increase my productivity to increase my amount of spare time?

Do you ever feel like you’re just… Not “enough”? This is something that weighs on my mind, constantly. There is only so much of me to go around. I am stretched as thin as I possibly can be, yet everyday people scold me, exclaiming there just isn’t enough of me. That has been a hard thing for me to accept. I am trying as hard as I physically can, yet most people aren’t satisfied. If I could cram more of me into each day, believe me, I would!

She is driving me faster than usual, she must be running late again. Did she oversleep? Was she trying to finish some homework before she left? She brought her mascara with her today… she only does that when she REALLY doesn’t have enough time. I notice she keeps glancing at the clock every few minutes. She seems to be growing increasingly distressed with every glance. What is that clock doing to her?

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It was a normal Monday morning. I was sitting at my usual table in front of the big window at the local coffee shop bakery in downtown Washington DC. As I sipped my chai latte I noticed a man in a suit and tie ordering a bagel. I took a bite of my muffin and silently wondered if he was with the secret service. The man left in a hurry and I curiously watched him run across the street, stopping traffic. My suspicions heightened when this mysterious man took a briefcase from another suited person in passing. The man sat down on the bus stop bench and opened the briefcase, revealing a computer screen and an array of buttons and switches. He was nibbling at his bagel and gazing at the screen when suddenly, a pigeon attacked. How stupid—everybody knows you can’t eat bread outside without a DC pigeon trying to take it from you. Surrendering to the bird, the man finally threw the bagel to the ground. The pigeon made a b-line toward the bagel, but instead knocked over the briefcase, locking himself inside. The briefcase sat idle on the ground for a minute, while the man cautiously approached it. Much to my surprise, the briefcase began flying! Laser beams and rockets were being shot in every direction! Complete chaos broke out. Cars were crashing, fires were set…. Was the BIRD doing all of this? Next thing I knew, the ground began rumbling. I looked down the street and a giant missile emerged from the Washington monument. Police were racing toward the scene, people were scrambling, and the suited man had disappeared. After minutes of apparent terror, the missile exploded in the sky. When man reappeared on the bus bench, I figured the chaos had ended. As what seemed to be a grand finale, the missile crashed back to earth, crushing the pigeon. This Monday was not as normal as I had originally thought… and after all, I guess the pigeon got what he deserved.

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It was a chill Saturday morning. I woke up in a tranquil mood—a welcome change from the crazy mornings the weekdays normally bring. I couldn’t wait to spend some leisurely time with my husband and our monkeys. I poked my head into my baby’s room. “Are you up yet, toodles?” of course she was. She was being her goofy, sparkly self, singing “EVERYTHING IS AWESOME”. I picked her up and we went downstairs to see her brothers tackling each other and screaming “YOU PLEB!!” “OH FUDGE!” I looked at them with my best mom face and exclaimed “seriously?!” they let go of each other and my oldest son looked at me and said “oh mom, it’s all good.” I rolled my eyes, called them gooberspanks, set my daughter down, and went into the kitchen. I began spreading margarine onto the toast and stared out the window. I was completely enchanted by the fantastical California surf in my front yard. This was home now. Growing up in Minneapolis, I had suffered from constant wanderlust. We had lived in Washington for a while, too. We’ve had many homes through the years, but this was it. This is where we belong. I was brought back to reality when my husband ran his hands through my permanently beachy waves. I turned around and smiled at his foggy Saturday morning expression. I had loved this man since I was sixteen years old… what an incredibly happy, yet extremely timey wimey thought. I brought the toast and a pan of eggs to the table. I admired my family around the table and sighed deeply. What a perfect day to just be

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What if I had stayed at Drury?

What if Bella had never been born?

What if we had never adopted Ginger?

What if I had never joined choir in high school?

What if I wasn’t allergic to cats?

What if I had chosen a different color for my shellac?

What if I was taller?

What if my parents had never gotten a divorce?

What if soda was good for you?

What if exercise didn’t make me want to die?

What if dance classes were FREE?

What if I had been born deaf?

What if I had grown up wealthy?

What if zil and I stayed friends?

What if I drove a jeep instead of an Alero?

If I had never joined choir in high school, I would be in a completely different place in life right now. The Glendale choir room holds so many important memories. If I had been too scared to sign up for choir, I wouldn’t have been as close to Jessie, my best friend from middle school. Throughout high school, choir was always the only class we had together every single day. If I wasn’t in that class, I probably wouldn’t have remained so close to her. If I hadn’t joined choir, I wouldn’t have ever met Dylan. We have been together for 4 years now and it all started from a crush, freshman year in the choir room and our friendship grew into a relationship throughout choir trips and competitions. If I had never joined choir, I wouldn’t have Mr. Brammer to look up to. Brammer was the choir instructor until my senior year of high school. The time that was spent with him as the choir director was so fun. He made our choir into a family, instead of a group of people with ONLY music in common. Had I not known Mr. Brammer and built a mentor/mentee relationship with him, I wouldn’t have 4 references to put on all of my applications and resumes. Had I not proven to him how responsible I am, I wouldn’t have his three beautiful children to babysit every other week. Which, subsequently, would leave me a little more broke than I currently am. Had I never joined choir in high school, I would still be a very shy girl too afraid to socialize and sing in front of people. Thanks to Brammer and my fellow second sopranos, I wouldn’t have ever had the nerve to audition for the chamber choirs, which proved to be my favorite part of my entire choral career. Choir has always been my favorite and most time-consuming extracurricular activity. If I wasn’t a part of the choir program at Glendale, I really am not sure what I would have done with my spare time. Seeing as I am not physically gifted in any way, I definitely wouldn’t be in a sport. Jessie and I were robe captains senior year which taught us a lot of responsibility and taught us how to handle stressful situations and hold a position of “power” and leadership.

If I had grown up wealthy, things would be a little different in my life currently. Growing up, I remember being raised on WIC and food stamps and having both of my parents work two jobs just to keep a roof over our heads. I remember eating ramen noodles and fried bologna sandwiches every other night and buying all of our school clothes at Walmart. I remember being ashamed of my home and the plates we were eating off of and the mismatched furniture in the living room. I remember being made fun of for getting free school lunch, while other children brought lunchables to school every day. If I had grown up wealthy, I believe I would be a more outgoing, outspoken person, instead of being so shy and reclusive from teaching myself to hide every aspect of my home situation. I also believe that my parents would still be together today. Money issues cause stress which causes arguments, which ultimately leads to divorce. If I had grown up wealthy, my mom would have been able to stay home with me and my brothers and sisters and we would probably be much closer. If I had grown up wealthy we would have lived in nicer houses and had healthier meals. I would be driving a jeep right now and wouldn’t have to work a job just to keep gas in my car and food in my belly while going to school full time. I wouldn't need financial aid to keep me in college. Speaking of college, I wouldn’t be in community college, I would have continued my Drury education instead. I also wouldn’t appreciate the things that I have right now though. I wouldn’t have a strong work ethic and I would be more apt to take for granted the things that my mom and dad have sacrificed in order to give us a “normal” life. I wouldn’t appreciate Christmas and birthdays and the occasional nights where my mom brings us out for something special like ice cream after dinner.

If I had never taken my job at target, I know exactly where I would be. I would be soooo broke and I would have to rely on my mom for everything (she doesn’t have a lot to begin with though). I wouldn’t be able to get Christmas or birthday presents for any of my friends, and I wouldn’t be able to go out to eat with anyone even for special occasions. However, if I didn’t have a job at target right now, I would spend so much more of my time reading and watching my favorite TV shows. I would have more time to dedicate to school work and studying. I would have free time to paint and go on walks and do other things that I really enjoy. Target has taught me how to stand on my feet for 9 hours at a time without feeling the pain, so I guess I wouldn’t have that advantage right now, either.

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I wasn’t afraid of clowns until I was a bit older. My family and I would go to the circus each year and I never had much of a problem with the clowns. I have always preferred the ones with the least amount of makeup, but I was never SCARED of them. That is… until I saw the movie “IT”. From that point on, I was always very scared of clowns with full coverage makeup. One year, my friend Gabrielle took myself and a few other friends to a haunted house in Branson with multiple floors and sections. We finally got to the last section of the haunted house and we were all SO excited to just get out of there. We entered the room and discovered a mirror maze. We were instructed to wear our 3d glasses and to leave them on until we left the maze. The next thing I knew, there were clowns EVERYWHERE. I could not tell which ones were just a reflection and which ones were actually real clowns. They followed me closely since I was the one most obviously affected by their presence. Gabrielle thought it was hilarious and had even told them my name. The maze was so hard to navigate, they eventually had me cornered. To this day, 8 years later, I still have nightmares about those clowns cornering me in the mirror maze chanting my name and laughing manically. It seems like such a silly thing to still be afraid of clowns at 20 years old, but I believe that if the haunted house incident hadn’t happened, I would be totally free of my irrational fear by now. It’s funny thinking about some stories that have to do with “fear” because it seems that Gabrielle has been a part of a lot of those stories.

Grabrielle and I grew up together on the same cul-de-sac and spent a lot of time together- I mean we were together every single day and were sleeping at each other’s houses even on the school nights. We used to do so many “daring” things that we were never supposed to do. For instance, we watched “the blair witch project” one night when we were specifically told NOT to watch this movie. My mom had never wanted us to watch this one movie because our home had a forest behind it- trees as far as you can see- and behind that, a large field with an abandoned, torn up house. We had always played in these trees and had seen the house in passing, but we did not understand the connection between the movie and these things- until we watched it. It was late and everyone in the house was asleep. Gabrielle was staying at my house that night, and we were sitting on the edge of my bed with headphones plugged into the front of the tv so nobody would know what we were doing. This was probably one of the worst decisions we have ever made (aside from crossing cherry street- but that’s another story). The entire movie was set in a wooded area very similar to our backyards, and the abandoned house at the end of the movie was eerily similar to the wreckage behind our neighborhood. By the end of the movie, we were paralyzed with this irrational fear that the blair witch was outside at that very moment. We were too scared to even step foot off the bed. From that moment on, neither one of us slept with our windows open. Little did we know, this movie was completely made up.

It was unseasonably warm for an October afternoon. Dylan and I had just gotten out of church and had packed “normal” clothes in the back of the car so we could go for a walk on the Galloway trails. We both changed into our “play clothes” and pulled up to the bridge over James River. To our right, I noticed a HUGE opening in the trees that I had (surprisingly?) never noticed before, despite our multiple after-church walks through the years. I am usually very wary of new, uncertain situations and am extremely apt to stay on the path well-traveled. That day something must have clicked in me, and I agreed to explore this new “path”. After being on the trail for only a few minutes, the gravel and dust turned into grass and mud… it wasn’t even a trail anymore. My phone began to ring and I answered it- audibly annoyed at the fact that I had mud on my tennis shoes and it was Dylan’s idea to go this way in the first place. I heard Eileen’s cheery little voice on the other end of the phone, “watcha doooooooooin?” she said. When I told her where we were, she shrieked with excitement. Curious, I asked what the deal was. She told us we were on our way to the haunted girlscout camp. I had heard about this place before, and knew full-well that it was just an urban legend and that it was actually just an old abandoned hunting lodge. My mood suddenly changed from annoyed to ecstatic. I had been meaning to try and find this place for years! I asked which way we were supposed to go, and she gave us very shaky directions. So Dylan and I trekked on. After about 20 minutes of climbing over branches and jumping over creeks, we came upon two stone pillars. Once we entered the “camp”, we found multiple cement, broken down, graffiti- covered buildings. I could not shake this creepy “blair witch” aura. I got so scared, I demanded we go back to the car immediately! Those 12 year old memories were coming back to haunt me.

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Growing up on the river, you learn a set of unspoken rules. Things like, don’t lean over too far when reaching for the cooler, don’t complain about being tired because you’re going to be stuck there for another 6 hours and complaining isn’t going to help you, don’t panic when the water gets rough, and don’t get out of the boat unless you can SEE the bottom of the river. However, there’s one “unspoken” rule that is anything but “unspoken”. The true test of a relationship: if you can make it down the river together without wanting to kill each other, you can make it through anything. We call this the “river rule” in our family. The reason being, spending 12+ hours within a 6 foot range of another person, you are going to get hot, tired, and annoyed. Someone is probably going to tip the canoe on accident, your sandwich is probably going to get wet, someone is going to paddle too fast or much too slow, and you’ll end up crashing into the river bank a time or two. Long story short: You are going to be ticked off at one time or another. Every time my (very large) family takes a float trip, there’s usually at least one fresh couple with us. That’s where the fun starts.

Spending 12+ hours within a 6 foot range of another person, you are going to get hot, tired, and annoyed.

Having never been on a plane, my friends, family, and I have spent countless hours packed together in a car. Every vacation I’ve ever been on has included some sort of road trip, most of them being 12 hours or longer. The absolute worst road trip I’ve ever been on was on the way to Dauphin Island, Alabama with Dylan and his family. Including myself, there was 10 people in one minivan. You can imagine driving 18 hours STRAIGHT with that many people in one car. There were people sleeping in the floor, curled up in the corner of the seats, sprawled out on top of each other—it was a mess. To add to it, there was a bad case of carsickness. One person would throw up in a bag, which would trigger someone else’s gagging, and so on and so forth.

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It was the first day of the spring semester. I was in my anatomy class, front row as usual. I was busy looking through my planner when a guy sat down right next to me. I looked up to see a juvenile-lookingmouth full of wire below a pair of blue eyes hidden behind thick, black, square framed glasses. I smiled back and said hello before returning to my planner. It was clear that this guy was a very eager to let the whole world in on his stories and secrets. He found several excuses to talk to me, though mostly about himself. His face had a handsome structure, and his aura was inviting—almost flirty; I just could not the way he stumbled over his words. His face glittered from the studs and rings through his features. Yikes. He wasn’t picking up my non-verbal annoyance, couldn’t he tell I was busy? As he rambled on about hisown accomplishments, I looked up every now and then and was distracted by his chocolate ringlets that moved slightly every time he shook his head. His nose was tiny, softly structured, littered with brownsun marks, and was contradicted by a strong, chiseled jaw. I could tell his t-shirt had been ironed and silently wondered if he had done it himself or if his mother kept him dapper and presentable. I had noticed that his mile long (yeti-esque) legs barely fit under our table. He bounced them as if he wasstressing out about something. I was brought back to reality when he very bluntly asked if I had heard anything he was saying to me. I blushed, embarrassed, and apologized for being distracted. I quickly realized I was getting on his nerves but he continued talking, anyway. He was going on and on about how athletically skilled he was and how much time he had spent in the weight room that morning. I glanced at his big, veiny arms and figured he wasn’t lying about that part. Finally, and to my relief, our professor interrupted his rant and started class. I took a deep breath and considered sitting in another spot for the rest of the semester.

Mind of a Twenty-Something

Friday, May 1, 2015

Assessment Questions

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Pre-writes