All weekend, I went back and forth about what to write for today’s blog post. I initially thought I’d hop on here to share a comedic take of my homemade Panda Express experience from this weekend, which involved three failed batches of chicken batter and way too much ginger. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that would require me to ignore the growing COVID-19 pandemic that is spreading worldwide…
A little less than two years ago, I could be found sitting in my bedroom frantically trying to figure out what to write about before midnight. No, I wasn’t experiencing a bizarre Cinderella in the cornfields of Ohio scenario; I just had to get something posted so I could keep my goal to “Publish a blog post once a week.” Ultimately, I wrote about books, and while it was nothing earth-shattering, it ranks as one of my favorite posts because it kept my goal going, which ended up producing some of my most cherished blog articles.
As of eight days ago, I officially became a twenty-five-year-old. Since it’s often viewed as a milestone year, I considered using this post to wax poetic about how I’m now a quarter of a century old. But after some thought, I realized that’s probably been done before, so I should instead just go ahead and share this year’s list of goals…
“…You have no sense of fashion…”
“I think that depends on…”
“No, no, that wasn’t a question.”
Last month found me relating to this iconic scene from The Devil Wears Prada on a personal level. I had flown to Tampa Bay, Florida for an interview to be the Executive Assistant to Amanda, the founder of a wildly successful fitness company. And even though there were no demeaning looks or Pellegrino bottles, the entire experience felt like something from a movie.
“Hey, Dan? Calm it with the sports references.” I know, this is my third sports-referenced blog post title in the past few months, so I guess you could say I’m one overtly-masculine grunt away from being a full-blown athlete. But let’s save the conversation about my transition into a sports icon for another day so we can get on to the actual matters at hand.
Having recently made my way back into the world of academia, I decided to take a stroll down memory lane by leafing through some of the papers I wrote during my time as an undergraduate student. One that stood out to me was a book summary I wrote about Susan Cahalan’s bestselling memoir Brain on Fire.
My goal to “join a group” has hung over my head throughout the past year. This is primarily because I would go back and forth on which group to join. I initially considered joining a running club, but I decided against this after straining my knee and observing how unnecessarily energetic those in athletic clubs tend to be. So after the dream of joining a weekly running club ended, I began to set my sights on something much more sedentary. And that was when I decided to join a book club.
Well, I did it. I finished an intimidating book. Kind of. Let me explain. I challenged myself a few weeks ago to read the 1847 classic Vanity Fair in eight days. It was ambitious, and I did it. Again, kind of.
I wrote a while back about how I was going to read the book War & Peace for my “read a book that intimidates me” goal. Well, it turns out that not only was it intimidating, but it was also incredibly dull (at least the thirteen pages that I read were). Because of this, I was going back and forth about giving that specific book up when another book came along to take its place.
I have loved books for as long as I can remember. Even as a child, I distinctly remember the thrill that came from receiving a book as a gift. I relished the opportunity to turn the pages and immerse myself in the world that they contained. And to this day, I still experience joy each time I open a new book. Wow, this has taken a much more nostalgic turn than I originally planned. I should probably give you some context for why I am writing so enthusiastically about inanimate objects.