[Design by Katherine Fletcher '16]
I’ve gone through life thinking I was destined for greatness in everything I’ve done. My parents, so worried about the self-esteem phenomena may have bolstered me a little too high. I’m not blaming this entirely on my parents, but I’m just saying, they started it. At a young age, I knew I was going to be a country music singer. Never mind that I didn’t listen to country music, it was going to happen. I had the cowboy hat, and a voice—not a particularly good voice, but a voice nonetheless. I got some weird looks in the middle school hallway from wearing the cowboy hat 24/7, but I was a kid with a dream. I’m sure my fellow classmates assumed I was going through some strange Madonna-esque stage of life, due to the buckteeth/cowboy hat combo.
My parents encouraged my deluded behavior; maybe thinking I wasn’t serious, maybe thinking it was cute. My mom took it as an open invitation to buy me hats, which led to a terrible bowler phase I’d rather not discuss. My dad sincerely told me to follow my dreams. But, here’s the kicker, what if I’m especially shitty at my dreams? After a year or so of intense vocal training, I lost any passion I had to win a CMA; kicked the country music star dream, and picked up a much weirder pastime. I have no idea where the inspiration came from, but I decided to be a professional fencer.
“Fencing” is just a nicer way to say fake sword fighting. Twice a week I would spend evenings at the local rec center learning how to fence. Reflecting on it, I must’ve grown up near a very diverse rec center, but that is beside the point. The point is, why was I allowed to fence for a year? I was terrible, and only had an interest in reenacting the fencing scene from the Lohan Parent Trap. Wasting my time, and my parents’ as well, I sometimes wish they ‘d forced me to become a spelling bee champ or the like. To this day I’m not so great at my times tables, and perhaps it would’ve been worthwhile to focus on that instead of my Jack Sparrow impression. Realizing I didn’t have the drive for late night practice, or qualifying matches, my fencing career ended in under a year. The dream died even faster than my fling with country music.
Fast forward a decade or so, and I’ve grown. Not physically, I’m probably around the same height, minus the buckteeth. I can admit without shame that I am neither a country music star, nor a professional fencer. But, this doesn’t make me any less crazy.
A friend the other day asked me what I was going to do the rest of my life. This wasn’t as existential as you think, seeing as I’m graduating college soon and all we see is this empty continuum called “the rest of our lives”. I replied to her question in a cocky way. I would be a writer, of stories, articles, books, opuses, you know? Maybe produce a piece of literature to rival the Bible, or at least Harry Potter? My friend responded to my half sarcastic comment with sincerity, assuring me that I was an excellent writer. I was ready to accept this as fact chiseled in rock, when something snapped. Like a detective noticing when the prime witness slips, everything started to go slow motion, and there was that Law & Order “dunk dunk” sound going off in my head.
This friend of mine had never read a work of mine, and okay, okay I understand. She was being nice. But, this pseudo-compliment led me to wonder—what does it really mean to follow your dreams?
Why didn’t my parents tell me the cowboy hat wasn’t doing me any favors? They could’ve pointed me in the direction of cobbling or taxidermy, hobbies that may have better suited me than country music. But no, they encouraged my dream to the point where I thought I could do anything. I dreamed big, with no follow through.
Now in my 20s, I have to wonder if I’ll succeed at what I’ve put my mind to. Since given my first journal, I’ve been writing nonstop. I believe in myself, but in the course of this essay I’ve proven I’m not really trustworthy. I’ve given up many times before in crazier pursuits. Does it matter if crazy people believe in themselves? If a crazy person compliments his or herself in the forest, does anyone hear it?
This truth only came crashing down on me during a phone call with my dad. After raising two older girls, I think he’s become a bit of a realist towards my problems. On the precipice of tears, I explained how I am a phony (you understand, because I talk like Holden Caulfield most of the time).
“I just feel like I’m out there. In a sea. Or ocean? What’s the difference? Anyway, I’m out there, with like, no ropes or pool noodles, and there’s a storm of sharks surrounding me or something” I lamented, “I’m not sure I’m meant to do what I love.”
“You’ve never picked the clear path…” my dad said, and followed that up with a family anecdote I wasn’t entirely listening to. “You will succeed. Eventually,” my father’s soliloquy concluded with Buddha-like certainty. Not, “You’ll do great” or “I believe in you,” but with the far more ominous, something good will happen to you sometime.
I’ve been meditating on this little advice nugget for a good thirty minutes now, and I realize he’s right. I also realized that’s exactly what I’ve been preparing for my entire education at Lehigh. These past four years have taught me more about myself than I believed possible.
Through speakers and workshops, classes and lectures, I’ve been surrounded by success that didn’t always come easy. Those who find success possess the winning combination of passion balanced with determination. We have students on campus engineering cures to cancer, making amazing art, and beating Duke. No one’s calling them crazy. If we called Jesse Reno a crazy person, we’d all still be huffing and puffing up stairs instead of taking the escalator. If we called Howard McClintic and Charles Marshall crazy, we wouldn’t have the Panama Canal, or the anagram “A man a plan a canal, Panama”.
What I’m trying to say, in this long-winded rant is, my time at Lehigh has taught me to “Work Hard. Play Hard, and then Work A Lot More”. If I put my mind to it, I can use what I’ve learned here to persevere. I’m not saying success will find me in all of my ventures, but eventually, I will succeed. It won’t just be my crazy dream of writing for a living that leads me to success, but also the determined passion. I gave up my silly hobbies because I lacked the determination to continue them. This time, I’m truly passionate about what I’m doing, and I can’t imagine just giving it up.
(Final) Case and point--where you are reading this: The Goblet. It’s an idea, sort of crazy, started by students. But if it weren’t a little bit crazy, and a lot ambitious, it wouldn’t be a Lehigh idea. I’m not saying it’s easy, but I am saying, “You will succeed. Eventually.”
Laughed Out Loud :) thank you!!
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