maysblog

It’s unreal to be packing up my dorm room, moving into upper level business classes with threes in their listing number and realizing that, at this time next year, the things I am up to my elbows organizing right now will have already come to pass.

Sitting in Reed Arena last night before Muster started, I had a flashback to Fish Camp, where they did something similar to show us how the tradition goes, and I remembered feeling completely disconnected from everyone around me. I didn’t necessarily mind the feeling, but it definitely gave meaning to the phrase “in a crowded room, yet all alone”–the thoughts of an outsider looking in.

Last night, waiting on the actual Muster ceremony to start and being connected second-hand to two people whose names were read, I got to talk with a friend who started the school year as a power-distanced role model–the sort of person whose plans and activities and network I observed the way only a freshman can–but whose background, motivations and sense of humor I have since grown to understand in a more real, fun way. The more involved the conversation got, the more I felt like fellow Aggies looking out at a world we have the power to shape in a positive way.

I can remember looking at Mays’ websites as a senior in high school, trying to plot a course for myself based on what sounded prestigious or what might, on a resume, entice a future employer to interview me. I wanted to be chosen. I planned, even as I entered with a prohibitive 43 hours of credit, to set myself up to earn Foundation, University, Business and Latin Honors, be a writer (and eventually Editor) of The Edge magazine, write for this blog, intern overseas at some big name-company, earn a 4.0—all to convince someone else to unlock the gate to my dreams.

Still, I’ve never been very good at letting some perceived practicality limit my passions–always the one to throw down the history book when it’s going on outside my window–so here I am, the plans I was passionate about realized, some others not…and content. Yet my friend, who has actually realized the goals I set way back when, sat beside me at Muster last night, happy as well, though decidedly not because of the long list of credits that could be attributed to his name.

Maybe the greatest lie I could believe is that some imaginary set of criteria or titles have the power to limit or spark my potential. I have choices. The course may change–the stakes may be raised–but anything is possible when I am honest about where I am, clear about why I am headed where, committed to living with integrity, and, above all, refusing to bail out on myself, whether by laziness, insecurity or otherwise. As Lucille Ball aptly put it, and as I have often thought, “One of the things I learned the hard way was that it doesn’t pay to get discouraged. Keeping busy and making optimism a way of life can restore your faith in yourself.”

So, while I’m putting my things neatly back into boxes, throwing some of it away and keeping some of it out for daily use, I have a powerful image of my first year at A&M. I came with beliefs, preconceptions and plans that had been packed into me by my first 18 years of experiences, have taken it all out, used some of it, ditched other parts of it, and now get to choose, whether positive or negative, what I will take away to use on the next leg of my travels–and who will come with me.