A bumper sticker in the parking lot this morning read, “I think I’m in college.” Some times while commuting here every day I have to admit I can relate to that statement.
Money is tight, and coming to Bucks was the easiest way to earn credits until I or should I say we transfer, as so many other students here will go on to four- year colleges.
It strikes me as funny that everyone speaks that way. “…And for these four years I will be here, in this place. And then I will go over there and do that for another two years…” As though anyone really knows what is really going to take place over that period of time.
The same kid that wanted to be a fireman in fourth grade is probably now studying to be a proctologist. Both professions involve hoses I guess.
The truth is that no matter what we say, we don’t really ever know what is going to happen, what “problem” will hold us back. Sometimes the smallest things get in our way, so small in fact that we can’t plan for them. Sometimes we get so bogged down with those stupid little things that they are all we see.
“F#%& this zipper, I just got this F%$&ing jacket!” I shout to myself, as I struggle with my coat zipper in the arctic predawn air that has frozen it into position. Early morning classes have never been easy for me. Most days I stub my toes anywhere from 8 to 10 times, and everything I am wearing is on backwards as I head out the door, late for my first class.
Life has turned into a strange steady float up and down river, to and from class, against and with the water. All my problems contained within my little raft are petty, but they all seem so valid to me. Until one day there is a whirlpool.
August of this year educated me on what is and isn’t a real problem. August of this year hit me like a sledgehammer.
He was not really my friend. I can’t say I really knew him well. But he was one of my classmates in high school and now he is gone.
His name doesn’t really matter, what matters is that he was accidentally shot with a BB gun while fooling around with a friend when he was only 16. He suffered brain damage and lost nearly all of his motor functions (Including the ability to walk or really speak). The rest of his days were spent mostly in bed.
His family and everyone that knew him loved him dearly.
Ask any of his friends and they will tell you what a loyal and gentle person he was. Ask any of his teachers and they will tell you what a great student he was, and what a pleasure he was to have in class. None of these people say these things because they have to.
Last August he passed away. I attended his funeral. I am sad and ashamed that I didn’t know him better, and that I didn’t ever visit him, and never wrote him. For some things we should always make time, but our zippers, so to speak, often get in the way.
With the beginning of the semester being a time that is usually very stressful, anxiety runs high, and it is easy to let the little annoyances seep under the skin.
Given last August, I try to keep in mind that there are very few things that are truly ever worth stressing over and that sometimes what happens simply happens, no matter where we say we will be two years from now. Sometimes we need to let the current take us a little more than we do.
Life’s short.