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.
If one had to guess who my celebrity of choice was when I was a college student, they’d probably say Miley Cyrus or Lana Del Rey. I mean, look at the above picture of the Lana mural hanging in my sophomore year dorm room (yikes). Surprisingly, the person whom I was dying to meet wasn’t a former Disney star or a moody singer; instead, it was a famous psychologist.
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.
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.