I seriously considered starting this with the lyrics to the 2009 song “When I Grow Up,” but I would like to believe that my readers are too highbrow to recognize that dated pop culture reference. The reason that I used a somewhat whimsical title is because I want to talk about the future. The one that I envisioned at different stages of life, and the “future” that I ended up living.
Mock. Yeah. Ing. Yeah. Bird. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
You may be confused by what appear to be the incoherent ramblings of a madman. Rest assured, they have a meaning. They are the beginning lyrics to the song Mockingbird by Carly Simon, and hearing them brings back a rush of memories of some of the best times I’ve spent with my Dad.
In a similar vein of storytelling as when I regaled you with my experiences working on a dairy farm, I am about to share something that may shock you. I used to be a hunter. Ok, to be honest, I was never that into it, but thanks to living in rural NY, I was expected to give it a try regardless of how I felt.
Tonight found me spending time with my siblings while visiting family in New York for the weekend. We had the usual nice time punctuated by jokes and stories, but through it all, I couldn’t help but feel a flood of nostalgia about childhood.
I recently had a pretty nasty bout of the flu. I thought that a common cold was coming on, but I woke up last Sunday feeling completely slammed by flu symptoms. So in a fashion similar to an actor portraying someone with tuberculosis in the early 20th century, I lay in bed and tried to imagine how wonderful it would be to feel better again.
I want to tell you a little story about the time when I attended a military ball with my friend Shannah. Full disclosure: I am writing this as if it occurred years ago. It did not. I got back from the ball yesterday. Anyway, let’s begin.
One of the darkest days of my life was when I found out that all of the college students taking the general education gym class were required to be a part of an intramural sports team. I was stunned when I heard the news. I felt like Rocky Balboa in one of those boxing movies that I never finished watching where he gets punched in the face over and over again. I had already nearly killed myself trying to run a mile and a half earlier in the semester, and now the teacher wanted me to play a sport with other students?
I recently made the drive from my home in Ohio to Virginia to attend an event planning conference that was being held in Washington D.C. Since I am relatively new to the world of event planning, I figured that it would be a golden opportunity to learn more about the career field that I have grown increasingly more passionate about.
Last Sunday I got a call that I never wanted. I was in Indianapolis for a winter retreat with students who volunteer for my office when I received news that I was not expecting. I first got a text telling me that my Grandma was not doing well and then a follow-up call to inform me of how pressing the situation truly was.
I lay on my sleeping bag feeling content. Sunlight warmed me as it filtered through the thin material of the small tent that I was inside. Within a few moments, I heard my Mom outside the tent. She unzipped the door and made her way inside.