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.
Most people who know me can attest to the fact that I have wanted to visit Washington State for many years. Well, this is the year where I decided to finally follow through by visiting the place that has intrigued me for so long.
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.
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 did something unforgettable in the spring of 2013. No, I didn’t write an earth-shattering exposé about the plight of refugees in the Middle East. I wish that I had done something that was memorable in such a positive way, but this was unforgettable in the worst way.
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.
Visiting family for the holidays in snowy, Western New York recently brought back a memory from quite awhile ago: the time I drove the family car down a thirty-foot incline.
Most people who have gotten to know me over the past few years find it impossible to believe that I worked on a farm as a teenager. I don’t know if it’s because of my love of Starbucks or my penchant for using mildly intellectual words like “penchant,” but people rarely accept it when I say that I am well versed in farm culture. Since this will probably continue happening, I figured that the best way to explain this era of my life would be through a blog post.
I know that it is a little past the end of my 21st year, but I figured better late than never when it came to writing a blog post that wraps up my 21 goals. Also, I am currently sitting in LAX and figure that writing a blog post is more productive than roaming the halls of the airport in search of a Jamba Juice.