Most people who are around me for more than a few hours discover that I am an introvert. This typically comes as a bit of a surprise since I tend to be confident and outgoing, but it’s usually evidenced by my need to briefly slip away during long group activities. Are you starting to understand why I go by “most boring person” yet?
I have a confession: I am not a morning person. When asked to align myself with morning or night people, I’ve always proudly said how I’m a morning person and don’t understand night owls. That statement is partially true since people who thrive at night baffle me; however, I’ve recently realized how much I struggle to get going in the mornings.
I walked with them into a darkly lit gymnasium and tensed up as I saw the colorful lights strobing on the other side of the room. Loud music was blaring, and the kids were growing more and more animated as we grew closer to the source of the sound. I thought to myself, “This is how people are ritualistically killed” as we drew nearer to the music and lights. Unwilling to die by the hands of high schoolers, I said goodnight and left the “party” to explore the campground.
Back in 2013, I was given some news that threatened to upend my life. I was midway through my third Klondike bar when my Mom informed me that we were finally getting family photos. Normally, I wouldn’t have been so averse to having my picture taken, but I had put on some serious summer weight that I didn’t want immortalized through a family portrait…
Before we get into today’s post, I must admit that I did use a dramatic title to get your attention because, like an obsolete YouTuber desperate for views, I am not above click-baiting my followers. With that being said, I do need help when it comes to one of my goals, so I am using my blog as a form of accountability.
There’s a lot to love about working for a university. You get to play a role in the education of the next generation of leaders, you get access to student dining services, and you get to take classes offered to faculty and staff. While each is a fantastic benefit in its own way, the latter is by far my favorite, and it was what I most looked forward to when I was offered a job at a university in New York. The position started in January, and not wanting to waste any time, I signed up for two classes within a few weeks of being there.
I like to think of myself as a pretty tech-savvy individual, but that has notion has been seriously challenged ever since I started working from home. Upon learning that I was going to work remotely, I considered quite a few things. I wondered how it would feel sitting in my mid-century modern desk chair (immensely uncomfortable), how the lack of a commute would start my morning (a little jarring), and if I had forgotten any files from the office (thankfully, no). However, throughout all of my thinking and worrying, I never once wondered how video conferencing would be.
Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, I, like many other people around the world, have been cooped up inside my house for the past week and want nothing more than to avoid thinking about the widespread disease. The problem is that it’s quite difficult to avoid it when there seems to be a new negative development described in detail every time I go online. And while I do hope to write more uplifting things in the future, it’s honestly been too tough to switch from my negative headspace to a creative one this week.
It’s tough to bring up international travel without sounding like that insufferable person at a party who can’t stop bragging about their amazing trips or, even worse, a wannabe social media influencer. However, I am going to ignore the negative perception of travel stories because I want to share a peculiar one from my time in Bogotá, Colombia. It all began at a Colombian church’s Thanksgiving dinner…
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.