| | Strap in for an extra long introspective. Or don't. You probably aren't missing more than the ramblings of a madman.
Life has a funny way of teaching you things. Events long forgotten seem to have a way of coming into stark relief when juxtaposed with the events of the present. My events are, on the surface, totally non-related. One involves boyhood antics on a snowmobile, and the other the challenges encountered by a fresh faced young man adjusting to life in college. However, upon deeper reflection, there is a common thread that unites these two stories. I’ve only come to this epiphany tonight; however, I feel that the following bit of introspection will yield similarities that may surprise even me.
The first story begins, innocently enough, in the town of Winter Park, Colorado. My grandmother and I joined our cousins from Illinois in a trek to see one of our relation get married. On the way up I had casually mentioned how neat it would be to go snowmobiling (I was 16 after all). It just so happened that my Uncle Roger took note of that hint and, one morning, asked if I’d like to go. It goes without saying that I jumped at the chance. Soon enough we were at a rental shop in Grand Lake. I really wanted to have my own snowmobile, but, being under 18, I wasn’t allowed to rent and I agreed instead to ride on the back while Roger drove. We got up in the trails away to what was probably a placid meadow in the summer, and Roger asks if I’d like to take the proverbial wheel. It wasn’t a proposition that I was against. Of course, as is his style, my uncle had to draw it out. He said I could only drive it on one condition: if he had to tell me I was being a dumbass more than once I was through. I agreed and jumped onto the snowmobile. I nodded at Roger and ripped the throttle open. Before I knew it I was going 40 MPH and had lost all control of the snarling beast between my legs. Suddenly it began to track into a creek that had filled with snow and my head nearly missed making friends with a young pine tree. Crunch! Whrrrrr! The sounds were awful as I came to a stop in at least five feet of snow. There was no driving away from this one despite no obvious harm to the snowmobile. I shakily got up and waived Roger over to me, hoping to communicate the fact that I wasn’t dead or dying. He trudged a good 70 yards to the creek and he looked at me and said “You’re up to 7. Now stop apologizing and start digging.” And dig I did. I dug my fat 16 year old ass off, but there was no making progress with just a couple of gloved hands. Eventually a guy came by that happened to have a shovel and he helped us dig and push the snowmobile out. Ashamed and out of breath I got on the back and waited for him to drive us back to the truck.
Then something I never would have anticipated happened: we came to another clearing and he let me drive it again. Apparently he thought that my near-death experience would have taught me to respect the machine, and if not, well, at least he was aiding natural selection. So, apprehensively, I climbed up and tapped the throttle. I don’t think I exceeded 5-10 MPH the entire 10 minutes I drove the snowmobile; I was utterly terrified of losing control of it and disappointing my uncle. Up until tonight I thought of it as simply a fond memory from childhood…
Fast forward two-and-a-half years and I’m landing at Logan Intl. Airport in Boston. I’m an eager freshman, full of vim, vigor, and vitality. I rush into my courses headlong, and get involved with some research to boot. I was starved of opportunity for so long and the fact that everything I wanted was available made me think I had to take it all in one go. Well, as you may have guessed, the research thing didn’t last more than a couple of months, and then I really started to get bogged down in my courses as winter set in. I finished the semester exhausted but with a decent GPA. Then came the Spring. The first problem was that I became addicted to one of the most potent drugs known to mankind: Women. The second problem was that I had so thoroughly burnt my reserves my first semester that I was running on fumes my second. I was falling asleep in classes, and just doing much worse than I am accustomed to. I chalked it up to tougher courses and kept going. In late February I got the flu. That wasn’t pleasant, but it passed without me missing too much class. However, I was still continually lethargic to the point of borderline narcolepsy. Then, the Thursday before spring break began, my world caved in around me. Without going into explicit detail, I became suicidal and admitted myself to the psych ward of a nearby hospital. I had crashed as hard as was possible. I was soon diagnosed as Bipolar and I withdrew from school in order to get a handle on my disorder.
From there on out I’ve been riding along on the coattails of my doctors and parents as we work together to set my affairs in order. So far I think things have gone fairly well. However, the specter of the coming semester is looming larger and the time is drawing nigh when I’ll need to take the wheel.
So to where do I set a course? Do I go back to Boston and face down the demons that defeated me once before? Or do I take the more peaceful path and transfer to KU?
It would seem that, if I’ve learned anything from the past, it’s best to play it safe, yet, at the same time, there have been other instances where I’ve risked it all and been bounteously rewarded in return.
I know where my parents stand on the issue. The only person that’s conflicted is me. I don’t know if I could look myself in the mirror knowing I quit without giving BU a proper shot. Conversely, do I really want to double down on my future, and my future debt? The way I see it I only have one more shot at BU. If I flunk out or go into the loony-bin again there is little chance they’ll let me back. It is at that point that KU becomes my only choice.
I absolutely don’t know what to do. It’s my life. It’s my decision. I just don’t know how to make it.
-Jon
:edit: I re-read this and I don't even remember having written the ending paragraphs. I'm not balanced as precariously as I made it seem, and I'm not sure why I alluded to that fallacy. Fact is, I want to go back to Boston; no, need to go back to Boston. And go back I shall.
Also, just wanted this in here somewhere.
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| | Posted 7/8/2009 3:38 AM - 17 Views - 4 eProps - 2 comments
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