This is a post I’ve been working on for a while (since Thanksgiving). It seemed appropriate to finally finish it and publish it.
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I don’t know who — if anyone — reads this anymore. That said, I know that this is late, but it happens (as you know).
I’ve lived in Madison for a few months now, and I wouldn’t say that I dislike Madison — in fact, I actually kinda like it — but it just isn’t home, and I’m not sure that it will ever feel that way.
I’m sure that a large part of that is that I’m really struggling with grad school, and that takes up most of my time and energy. Hopefully when I get into my focus field (and beyond statistics and economics -___-) I’ll be more engaged, and I’ll actually be better at the whole school thing. But for right now, I’m really struggling, for the first time in my academic life. I find that I’m struggling to fit in a little bit, too. It all feels like a language that I don’t speak and that I don’t understand.
Before I moved here, a friend had told me that Madison could be a pretty lonely place. As an introvert (People who know me only as that loud, obnoxious asshole from Illinois are probably like, “You? Introvert? Nahhh.”), that was a haunting piece of advice that had been burning a hole in the back of my mind the first one or two months that I lived here. I woke up and put on a big cheesy Kanye smile every single day, and I went through all the motions I thought I was supposed to go through to be “cool” and to “make friends”, but then I realized that all that stuff wasn’t me. It felt wildly disingenuous, and it just took a whole lot of energy to avoid being the person that I’ve always been (and that sooooo many people love, lulzlolslawls just jokes). And then the thought dropped through and I was forced to realize — I was really lonely. Don’t get me wrong — I have friends in Madison (I have friends?) — but by and large, that wasn’t enough to keep that feeling at bay. I realized that as I was driving home from fall league one night. I was coming home on Blount, and it was really dark, and I looked up towards Gorham, where it looked like cars were just floating in the middle of the sky, and for some reason, it really hit me then how alone I felt, and how sad this place sometimes makes me. Sometimes I feel like I’m just floating by, with no meaning or anything to anchor me once in a while. I feel helpless and lost. But in the very next breath, I realized that in a very strange way, that same feeling of loneliness and emptiness makes me more grateful than ever for everything I have, and it reminds me of why I work so hard. I know it sounds weird, but it’s a feeling that energizes me, and actually feeds me.
So this is meant to be a post of gratitude. You could call it a “Thanksgiving” post if you want. It’s really late, like I said, but it happens.
I’m unbelievably grateful for my family. Family Over Everything.
I’m grateful that some things never change. I’m grateful that when I laugh, it’s for realsies, every time (and I’m also grateful that I have an embarrassing loud laugh). I’m grateful for Google Hangout. I’m grateful that love has an excellent memory. I’m grateful for people who will be there at the end, just chuckling up a storm with me.
I am grateful for the first page of new books, blank Word documents/Blogger entries (thank you, dear friend), and very early mornings. I am grateful for Fall Out Boy for parts of high school (*snicker snicker*), “The Con” during my sophomore year (… and junior year … and senior year…) of college, Cutthroat Trout (1:08… i’ll see you in the next good life), a Walrus t-shirt, and Rilo Kiley (always). I am grateful for free throws in the empty practice gym, the way the cold air feels in my nostrils and in my lungs late on Thursday nights late into fall at Wash Park, and walking back to my car across Wash Park as games and sunlight are in their last stages of life.
I am grateful for dizziness, that momentary blackout, that nauseous feeling, and sweat. I am grateful for the two longest years of my life, fourth place (out of five), and losing. I am grateful for failure and rejection, for the struggles and faltering self-confidence. I am grateful for my lion hearted sense of pride. I am grateful for the relentlessness that keeps me up at night. And I am forever grateful for hunger.
I am grateful for my fierce (and sometimes awfully stubborn) independent streak. I am grateful that the person who hates me the most lives in my mirror. I am grateful for all my flaws, demons, falls, and wrongs. I am grateful that I choose not to squeeze, every time (you really like summer, you really like music, you really like reading, love!).
I’m grateful for the people who are there for me when I’m at my worst, and when I deserve it the least. (“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies but the silence of our friends.”) Thank you for giving me the strength to continue to get up. As some of you may know, I’m obsessed with my high school speech teacher, Ms. Graf. She’s hysterical, wise, and full of horrible jokes. (She also once gave a speech about Harold’s.) She’s probably the coolest adult I know (after probably my mom), and someone I trust and admire. Whenever I find myself at a moral crossroads, Ms. Graf is always one of the first people that I think to turn to, and whenever I need help with something, she’s always there to answer the call (even if she makes fun of me first, during, and then after). I haven’t been able to see or talk to her in a while, but I e-mailed her a while ago to tell her everything that’s been going on in my life (mostly to tell her about Vietnam, how I finally purchased a bike helmet, and how I’m at Wisconsin now — she helped me edit my personal statements). She always tells me that progression is about letting go of the old so that the new can happen. And it can be painful and difficult to let go of the old, but change is never a bad thing. You can’t grow without change. So I told her all about how painful the last two years have been. I told her all about the lessons I’ve been learning, and all the ways I’ve been growing. That I’m grateful for the way things shook out, because they made me stronger than I’ve ever been, and I’m hungry now. I told her that I’m struggling a little bit now, too, but that I know that I have it within me to weather any storm. (How many more cliches can I use?) She replied that she was truly happy for me, that she believes in me, and that she’ll always be rooting for me. And then Ms. Graf signed her e-mail: “Be yourself.”
And I know that’s simple. I know it’s two words. And I know it’s something that everyone always says, all the time.
But it means everything to me coming from someone that I look up to and respect so much. It’s a validation that I always have to be true to myself, to the things I believe in, to the things I’m passionate about, and to the things I believe are right. It means to always be true to those things, even when it’s hard, even when it’s unpopular, and even when I maybe don’t want to do all those things. I’m grateful for Ms. Graf. I’m grateful for Dave Nelson. I’m grateful for the sometimes constant, sometimes tiny, sometimes unexpected, and sometimes painful reminders that I’m doing what I’m doing for a reason. I’m grateful to be reminded that the fight’s not over (as long as you’re alive, fight your whole lifetime).
Finally, thank you to Rasheed Wallace, my NBA spirit animal for reminding me that Ball Don’t Lie.
(And because I know you’re all curious now — NBA patronus: Derrick Rose; real life spirit animal: sloth, real life patronus: otter; NBA/real life love: Nick Collison.)