college

The Best Writer in the Room (Give or Take 30 English Students)

As many of you know, I just started my Junior year here at the University of Rochester, NY. I’m studying entrepreneurship but also creative writing, as a minor. I’m a transfer student which means I came from a community college.

In the first week of school, my playwright professor led the class in a writing “Impulse” exercise. Basically, it goes like this:

You close your eyes and relax. A detailed scene is spoken before you and after a few quiet moments, you write non-stop for fifteen-minutes.

I’ve done these exercises before but have never really appreciated them. Often, other writers tell me the importance of writing a first draft non-stop without editing. Personally, I hate doing that. I don’t know why. I stop and read and edit. I’m positive it’s why my blog posts take so damn long.

Regardless, I did the impulse-exercise and the results came out as expected: a jumbled mess of words and a decent start. Nothing to write home about.

I was ignorant because I assumed everyone around me had a similar situation. A complete mess. But I was wrong. The professor asked students to read their work. Out-loud. Yes. I was wrong.

I listened to my classmates read their work, and it was absolutely amazing. I’m surrounded by wonderful, talented writers. In the fifteen minutes of writing, most (if not all) managed wonderful characters, detailed settings, and accomplished word-usage. I looked down at my work:

The cat go meow. Dog chase it on park. Cow go moo. 

Crap. I have some work to do.

Chicken Scratch

For most of my academic career, I’ve been the best writer in the room. That reads kind of cocky, but it’s true. Students in community college just don’t care. I put actual effort into my papers and found it really easy to impress my instructors and fellow students. Scholarships, literary journals, 4.0, etc.

At Rochester, the tables have turned. I’m no longer the best writer in the room. It turns out, everybody in the room is a good writer and often better.

Wait. Don’t Go! I’m not fishing for compliments (I promise).

As tempted as I was to drop-out and reenroll in community-chicken-college to satisfy my comfort zone, I know it would do me no good. It hurts when you learn you’re not the best at what you thought you were. I’m a decent writer; I know that, but I need to grow. That’s okay. I can always get better.

Despite the gross sense of intimidation and inadequacy I’ve faced this last week, I’m absolutely positive I’m in the right place. Every writer needs a push, and I’ve been pushed. In fact, since that first class, I’ve been working on my writing more than I ever have. Thank God for that. 

(I know it’s healthy because it stings).

Ever find yourself in a similar situation? Any advice? How do you write a first draft?

Dancing with Confidence, Tripping Over the Shoes of Fear

Upon walking out of a Wegmans the other night—a Rochester based grocer Megan and I have come to fall in love with—we observed ferocious, grey clouds pouring into town from every direction, pari passu, slowly and ominously withering the last of our daylight. Directly above us were some stars, a few clouds, a slight breeze, but nothing more. It was peaceful.

That’s how I feel now. I’m entering “Calm before the storm” mode. That’s what I’m choosing to call it, anyway. Right now, life is serotinally peaceful; I know it wont last long, and that’s okay. Classes will start and homework will pile. It’s what I signed up for.

Around me are weathered students, all of whom waiting for the storm to begin. As a Junior, I’ve seen some weather too; however, I still doubt myself. I don’t know why.

Like an iced-kicker, I psych myself out of the confidence I know I possess.

Philosophy Steve

The other day, over the telephone, my uncle said something that stuck with me. He said “Kevin, the unknown fools us.”

I stopped him in the middle of his next sentence: “Steve, that was deep, man.”

It’s true, isn’t it? The unknown fools us. It grabs ahold of our fears and lies to us; it calls us names and exploits our insecurities. Call it what you want—a lack of control, a lack of confidence, whatever the insecurity may be—the unknown seeps in and plants fear.

My confidence moved me to the other side of the North American continent in pursuit of the best education I could attain. So yes, I possess confidence. I’m no Ron Burgandy, but you know, I’m getting there. (It’s all in the mustache?)

Yet, truth be told, my doubts creep in. Butterflies show up from time to time. They fly around in my stomach, sometimes regressing into caterpillars, causing me to cowardly hide underneath fallen leaves.

Three Important Reminders

  1. Insecurities are not concrete, but a fluid which evaporates with wisdom and experience. Don’t define yourself by your temporal troubles.
  2. Fear is a great motivator and a terrible bed-mate. Keep her off the pillow and away from your dreams.
  3. “The unknown fools us,” but only if you let it. Lead the dance and kick off the shoes of fear.

Whether we want it to or not, most major decisions (changes) require a little uncertainty, a toe-to-toe dance with the unknown. What if, instead of running away, we tried to lead the dance?

I’ve never been a good dancer, but I guess I can give it a shot.

How about you?

The “Suspended Early-Twenties” Vortex

This Fall semester, I am reentering college as an old man. Twenty-six now, I’ll be twenty-seven in November. I’ve reached a conclusion regarding my age—as flippant as it might sound, I urge you to accept my sincerity—I’m ancient.

The past few days I’ve been attending Orientation Week at the University of Rochester, and it’s been great. I’ve been floored by the level of genuineness the school shows towards its students. I’ve spoken with alumni and veteran students, and it seems U of R never lets up. The university is with you the entire way, offering help and encouragement as you progress.

But yeah, I’m older. Being surrounded by Freshmen doesn’t seem to help.

As a transfer (Junior standing), I should be a little older; I get that; I do. But even the transfers are young. Yesterday morning I attended “Breakfast with the President and the Deans,” a transfer-only event (no lousy freshmen).

Sitting with my fellow-transfer students, I quickly grasped two things:

1. The average age of the table, excluding myself, was twenty-one.

2. At twenty-six, I might as well have been in my fifties. I just don’t relate like I used to.

Vortex

My wife says I’m suspended in an “Early-Twenties” Vortex. She’s creative like that.

Basically, the last few years I’ve been surrounded by folks in their early twenties: my friends, my band-mates, my co-workers. When you’re twenty-four and twenty-five, twenty-year-olds don’t bother you. You still relate.

At (almost) twenty-seven, I feel myself growing cold to the trivial discussions of “this is my first time away from home, and I need attention.” I could care less about your many trips to the bar. You got drunk, good for you.

Beer is still new and exciting for most young twenty-somethings. Personally, I’m tired of discussing the subtle differences of Keystone and Budweiser; it’s just not my thing. I realize “I drink one with dinner” is not the hippest sentence to utter, but luckily getting older relieves the stress of being hip.

There’s other differences. I’m married, so I’m not trying to get laid.

At twenty-one, getting laid wasn’t just an idea, it was a life goal; I based every decision around it: when I went outside, what I ate, why I got out of bed… I see it now in younger kids like a stamp on their foreheads; was I that obvious?

It’s cool, I guess. College is about getting laid for a lot of people. It’s about exploring and experimenting. It’s about being away from home for the first time and making bad decisions.

What if you’ve already done all that? What if you’ve already found yourself?

I desire to make a difference in the world. I’m ready to meet intellectual people and discuss meaningful topics. Cheesy as it sounds, I’m ready to make the most of my education.

Too-Cool for School

As I read over what I’ve written here, I see how asshole it all sounds. I’m too cool for twenty-year-olds.

That’s not it at all.

I had an amazing conversation with two twenty-year-olds on the first day of orientation. They were both amazing, incredibly smart people (smarter than I was at twenty) who deeply inspired me. It’s not the age I wish to distance myself from, but a state of mind.

Maybe I’m in some late-twenties life-crisis.

I once again find myself without a clear conclusion. Like a case of The X-files, I’m so close to capturing the truth but can’t quite take it home.

So goes life.

At least I can see the forehead stamp and laugh a little bit. Maybe Solomon was wrong; wisdom starts not at the fear of the Lord, but when we learn to laugh at ourselves and our pasts.

Wish me luck as I go forward.

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ANNOUNCEMENT: We’re Moving! (again)

Well, we finally know. For over eight months now, I’ve been anticipating answers: Where will I go to school? Where will Megan and I spend the next two years of our lives? What kind of food will I be eating?

I found five schools that spoke to me. Five universities in five different regions of the country. Five different prices. All too expensive. Megan thought I was crazy. Not because of my chances, but because of the distance to which I was reaching, the scope of it all. Also, I give her plenty of reasons to think I’m crazy each day.

So, we waited. And waited. And I lost hope. I began to look at plan b’s and cower from fear. Months and months went by. More times then I care to admit, #thewaitinggame got the best of me.

Finally, the letters started coming; better yet, the financial aid letters started coming. Monday morning, my heart shat its pants with joy.

Upstate and Away!

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I write this in California. I sit with coffee and think of my family and friends here. Once again, I will be leaving them. I think of our friends and Megan’s family, in Idaho, who once again we will leave.

With a heavy, yet joyous heart, we have decided to move away from everyone we know and love. About 2700 miles away. As I get older, these things get harder.

The decision is this: we are moving to Rochester, New York! I will study Entrepreneurship and Economics with (hopefully) a minor in Creative Writing at the University of Rochester!

Best yet, my educational costs are completely covered. I was awarded a crap-ton of grants and scholarships! Think, three Little Caesar franchises. We’ll have enough to cover tuition, and a little extra to move there and get settled.

At this moment, I feel completely and utterly loved.

3 Reflections on Reaching Your Goals

(From the perspective of a poor boy who was given nothing)

1. Write down your goals on a piece of paper. Look at them everyday. Many books will tell you to do this; I was always hesitant. Monday morning though, I was able to check off the first four goals on my list. The best of which was this: go to a top university with a full scholarship. No debt for education.

2. Take responsibility for yourself and your situation. I was born into a family that didn’t champion higher education, nor did it have the money to do so. There was no fund waiting for me. I truly believe that everyone gets their chance. You might have to work a little harder, or wait a little longer, but it will happen.

3. Enjoy your goals with a thankful and modest heart. When I got the news, I called just about called everyone. I tried for CNN, but couldn’t get through. Excited doesn’t even begin to explain. Later, I had to check my motives. It’s okay to brag a little, but be cautious. Stay humble and move forward. We are all in God’s grace, every day.

PS: I couldn’t have done this without my wonderful wife! She is the best and I don’t know what I’d do without her. Thank you Lord for putting her in my life.

The Waiting Game #worstgameever

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Get outta here. Just happen already. Let’s DO this.

Do you ever struggle with patience? I do. For many, patience is a virtue. For me, it just virtually sucks. I guess I’ve just never been very good at it.

A focus of mine, as a blogger, is to turn negative issues into positive.

I hope to leave my readers inspired and give them something tangible for their lives.

Spoiler alert: there is no lesson here, I’m just complaining. Leave while you can.

The Waiting Room of Life

Last September, I sent transfer applications to five universities all over the country. The schools span from Hawaii to New York. I thought, why not? With my wife, it’s our chance to roam.

The applications were finished. In the words I wrote, I staked my future. As an artist it was my heaviest project yet. It was the best epic I could muster.

In the end, these forms held my linguistic DNA. I put everything into them—everything but the impatient part, I guess. That was left with me to suffer, to yearn.

Narcissus & Goldmund 

I’ve been reading Hermann Hesse lately, specifically the novel Narcissus and Goldmund. Last night, I came upon a passage I quite liked—a discussion between two artists.

Be patient! I’m well aware of what it is like to have completed a piece of work that was of great personal significance. I know that empty feeling. It will pass, believe me.

This soothed my soul. I’m not exactly sure why, I submitted college applications over six months ago. My problem is patience, not art. But still, as an artist, I never confronted the emptiness I was left with after submitting these papers.

Yet another reason to hate the waiting game.

I’d appreciate any good stories or tales of impatience. Can you relate? Help me out here!

 [photo cred: http://www.flickr.com/photos/8398214@N05/3214687264/]

Communication Not Required

“Let me tell you something about management Kevin,” she takes a breath, “you can tell people, write it down, scream at them all you want…” she then makes the in one ear out the other pantomime.

“It’s like pounding your fist against a wall,” she again makes a gesture and finally adds, “they just wont do it!”

This came as a response to a suggestion I gave her about her staff; we work together and I noticed a couple problems worth mentioning.

“That sucks.” I add.

“Later,” she walks away as I remember a previous conversation about her college experience.

She’s a communications major.

I’m not sure what I’m suppose to take away from this. Maybe just that, more often than not, your boss is probably cluess. So give them a break once in a while. It’s like finding your dad on the kitchen floor, drunk and asleep with a cigerette in his mouth.

I guess dad isn’t Superman. Kick his leg and let it go.