Much to the initial surprise of many of my followers, I have quite the rural past which I have freely shared on this blog. These anecdotes have detailed my time spent working on a farm, throwing knives, and failing to emulate the murderer of Bambi’s mother. Basically, I haven’t always been the somewhat polished, dirt-averse individual most of my readers have come to know and tolerate, and today I’m going to add fuel to that fire by describing my time as a horse owner.
Disclaimer: This post is not going to be as soothing as The Great British Baking Show, so if you’re looking for that genre, I’d suggest heading over to Netflix for your dose of accented people trying their hands at baking. Once you’re done there, be sure to come back here for your fix of a non-accented person attempting to make an Americanized version of iconic baked goods.
In the spring of 2018, I wrote a post about (pardon my potential misuse of a football reference) calling an audible. Well, it’s nearly two years later, and I find myself in a similar place: wanting to edit a few of the year’s goals in addition to lacking even a basic understanding of sports terminology. So here’s what I’m planning on changing:
One of my best friends visited me this weekend, and we reminisced about the time we did our best to shut down the use of an app on our college campus (and how we suppressed free speech in the process). The memory seemed pretty far fetched, so wanting to remember more of the details, I went back through my old journals and found an entry from August 2015 where I described our mission. In typical Most Boring Person fashion, I’m going to react to it:
If you’ve read my blog as far back as 2017, you’ll know I haven’t had the best of luck when it comes to getting my hair cut. Most notoriously was the disastrous haircut that spawned memorable lines like “…raking through my hair with the ferocity of a recently scorned girlfriend shredding her ex-boyfriend’s letter jacket” and “budget haircuts, like back-alley lobotomies, should be avoided at all costs.” If you can’t tell from reading those dramatic gems, I desperately hoped my terrible haircutting experiences were over. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.
Many people who grew up in the Northeast probably remember the euphoria of rushing downstairs on a wintery weekday to discover that school had been canceled. I, on the other hand, remember quite the opposite: an anticlimactic feeling of trudging downstairs on a snowy school-day to sit at the dining room table and work on my assignments. The difference? Being homeschooled.
As I drove a moving truck full of my belongings across the Florida state line today, I couldn’t help but reflect on the past year and the lessons it taught me. So not wanting to be selfish by keeping those to myself, I’ve decided to share them with you.
Although this year has not gone according to the five-year plan I once carefully crafted, I did my best to make the most of it. When I moved back to Florida in July, I did so with a steely determination to make my second round down south much more impactful than my first. While I never imagined I would one day be working in the legal field, I was excited to challenge myself in new areas and planned to stay in the job for the next few years. But once again, I came to realize how plans can change in the blink of an eye.
In case the title caused you to wonder, I have not been concealing a marriage. It’s slightly less dramatic, but exactly five years ago today, I wrote my first post for this blog. To celebrate this occasion, I’m going to react to that inaugural post because I couldn’t exactly commemorate the day by giving the traditional fifth-anniversary gift of wood.
After graduating from college, I began work as an admissions counselor at my alma mater, and let me tell you, I tackled that job with all the gusto of a My Strange Addiction subject devouring a box of dryer sheets. I knew it was a blessing that I had gotten the job, and I wanted to do my absolute best. The problem is that although I am quite gregarious, I am not a natural-born salesman, which makes it pretty difficult to convince people to choose your school over the myriad of other options they have.