Disclaimer: New Year Eve antics demonstrated here may be mildly exaggerated.
A little late, but whatever.
A year ago, on December 31, 2013, I was sitting in the living room of the house I was living in at that time, a small house in Rochester's 19th Ward. I had a bottle of Bully Hill's Felicity to myself and was watching Avatar: The Last Airbender while my roommate lounged on the other couch, watching How I Met Your Mother, nursing a box of wine.
It was 10:30 at night, and I thought 2013 had been a remarkable year. I had graduated from college with a decent GPA, did an internship with the Conservator's Center, got accepted into a grant program that enabled me to return to school for my graduate degree, brought my horse to college with me, and gotten accepted to study abroad in Costa Rica.
Little did I know...
About three-quarters through my bottle and definitely feeling the alcohol, my roommate asked me to come with her to let out the neighbor's dog. It was about 11:30. We were both tipsy and giggly as we raced across the street and into the other house, letting the small dog out in the yard. Afterwards, returning to our house, my roommate suddenly gasped.
"I need to put on my makeup before I call (Boyfriend)!"
She bolted upstairs, and I decided to watch one more episode of A:TLA before FaceTiming my dear, innocent boyfriend.
It was 11:58. His face gazed confusedly at me from my phone's screen as I laughed obnoxiously and recounted the evening to him.
11:59. I bellowed out the countdown before loudly cheering, screaming "HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!" and singing a drunken rendition of Auld Lang Syne.
It was 2014.
Ultimately, 2014 was a good year. There were lots of ups and downs, naturally. I learned so much about myself, however, and stopped caring so much about what others thought of me.
I took reckless actions - I applied to the Peace Corps and a full-time job. I presented posters at a few symposiums and conferences throughout the United States. I traveled to Costa Rica, met people, got bitten by the travel bug, and left behind a piece of my heart. Without fail, almost daily since then I have looked at flight prices and tried to figure out if I could afford to go abroad again. I dropped everything and went to Toronto with one of my best friends, staying in a tiny room with a bathroom right next to the bed. I began two new jobs. I jumped out of windows. I took selfies with cigars. I broke promises. I danced on a pole.
The crowning achievement of 2014? I grew a pair, realized that I didn't have to keep making people happy, and that I was allowed to be selfish. I left the Rochester Bridges to the Doctorate program.
Pause.
Now here is where I want to clarify a few things. People seem to have the wrong impressions about why I left, and the circumstances behind it. I did not fail (I do not fail at things or at life - sorry for all those haters out there). I was not kicked out. If people could kindly stop making assumptions about something that is ultimately private, that would be nice. Also - if people who barely have anything to do with me could stop talking to other people who also barely have anything to do with me about me and the program (you know who you are, and I know who you are), then we're all sunshiny.
This is also where I want to mention something - people seem to think that leaving the program was a mistake. They think I should have stayed, stuck it out, until the very end.
I'm sorry. Let me do the math. That's two years of my Master's program. Two years of muddling along in a thesis topic that I absolutely despised. Then, what, six years in a PhD program? And of course I'd beforced encouraged to be in a program that had absolutely nothing to do with my relevant interests. Then what? I start working? I'll be 30. I'll have missed my twenties. Missed all my chances to jump through windows, to dance on poles, to travel to third-world countries, to suck on cigars, to meet strangers, to visit new cities, to hike, to fish, to laugh, to cry, to live.
Do you know what I was thinking before I left the program? I was thinking I could stick it out, to suffer (yes, to suffer - I was that unhappy) and suck it up throughout my PhD. And then go back to school. At that rate, I wouldn't be happy until I was forty.
I'm sorry. That wasn't feasible. That is part of the reason why I left - the program was incompatible with what I was looking for, and I was under the impression that I could pursue my passions as a Bridges scholar. Clearly, something went wrong somewhere. I'm not trying to point fingers - it happened, and it's part of my life and my past.
With leaving the program, I felt like I had woken up. I felt like I hadn't been myself for a year, and now that the ordeal was over, the world seemed brighter. In fact, there was a world of possibilities I hadn't thought about in about a year because I had felt so limited.
Resume.
2014 was a good year. I learned how to be selfish. I learned how to be selfless. I put aside differences and reconciled old friendships. I cut loose toxic people. I learned how to channel Beyonce and do a sassy Beyonce stomp. I joined lesser-known social networks and met complete strangers, creating new friendships with several. I am now officially three-quarters through my graduate program, with a kickass GPA. And, believe it or not, I have found myself to be so hilarious I've opened myself up to the Internet and publicized my two and a half years old Twitter account (follow me if you dare - @frumpyjellyfish). The news is now more interesting than in the past, and I enjoy discussing current events with my friends.
Downs include being forced to be long-distance with my boyfriend of five (!!!!!!!!!!!) years, being unable to study abroad again, and a near-death experience with my car on 390 North in April.
Through the closing hours of 2014, I gathered in a garage with friends new and old. We played beer pong, set off fireworks, and drank our way through several bottles of wine, ale, and a few kegs of beer. We laughed. We chatted. We hugged.
2014 is over.
2015 is here. It's going to be a good one.
A little late, but whatever.
A year ago, on December 31, 2013, I was sitting in the living room of the house I was living in at that time, a small house in Rochester's 19th Ward. I had a bottle of Bully Hill's Felicity to myself and was watching Avatar: The Last Airbender while my roommate lounged on the other couch, watching How I Met Your Mother, nursing a box of wine.
It was 10:30 at night, and I thought 2013 had been a remarkable year. I had graduated from college with a decent GPA, did an internship with the Conservator's Center, got accepted into a grant program that enabled me to return to school for my graduate degree, brought my horse to college with me, and gotten accepted to study abroad in Costa Rica.
Little did I know...
About three-quarters through my bottle and definitely feeling the alcohol, my roommate asked me to come with her to let out the neighbor's dog. It was about 11:30. We were both tipsy and giggly as we raced across the street and into the other house, letting the small dog out in the yard. Afterwards, returning to our house, my roommate suddenly gasped.
"I need to put on my makeup before I call (Boyfriend)!"
She bolted upstairs, and I decided to watch one more episode of A:TLA before FaceTiming my dear, innocent boyfriend.
It was 11:58. His face gazed confusedly at me from my phone's screen as I laughed obnoxiously and recounted the evening to him.
11:59. I bellowed out the countdown before loudly cheering, screaming "HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!" and singing a drunken rendition of Auld Lang Syne.
It was 2014.
Ultimately, 2014 was a good year. There were lots of ups and downs, naturally. I learned so much about myself, however, and stopped caring so much about what others thought of me.
I took reckless actions - I applied to the Peace Corps and a full-time job. I presented posters at a few symposiums and conferences throughout the United States. I traveled to Costa Rica, met people, got bitten by the travel bug, and left behind a piece of my heart. Without fail, almost daily since then I have looked at flight prices and tried to figure out if I could afford to go abroad again. I dropped everything and went to Toronto with one of my best friends, staying in a tiny room with a bathroom right next to the bed. I began two new jobs. I jumped out of windows. I took selfies with cigars. I broke promises. I danced on a pole.
The crowning achievement of 2014? I grew a pair, realized that I didn't have to keep making people happy, and that I was allowed to be selfish. I left the Rochester Bridges to the Doctorate program.
Pause.
Now here is where I want to clarify a few things. People seem to have the wrong impressions about why I left, and the circumstances behind it. I did not fail (I do not fail at things or at life - sorry for all those haters out there). I was not kicked out. If people could kindly stop making assumptions about something that is ultimately private, that would be nice. Also - if people who barely have anything to do with me could stop talking to other people who also barely have anything to do with me about me and the program (you know who you are, and I know who you are), then we're all sunshiny.
This is also where I want to mention something - people seem to think that leaving the program was a mistake. They think I should have stayed, stuck it out, until the very end.
I'm sorry. Let me do the math. That's two years of my Master's program. Two years of muddling along in a thesis topic that I absolutely despised. Then, what, six years in a PhD program? And of course I'd be
Do you know what I was thinking before I left the program? I was thinking I could stick it out, to suffer (yes, to suffer - I was that unhappy) and suck it up throughout my PhD. And then go back to school. At that rate, I wouldn't be happy until I was forty.
I'm sorry. That wasn't feasible. That is part of the reason why I left - the program was incompatible with what I was looking for, and I was under the impression that I could pursue my passions as a Bridges scholar. Clearly, something went wrong somewhere. I'm not trying to point fingers - it happened, and it's part of my life and my past.
With leaving the program, I felt like I had woken up. I felt like I hadn't been myself for a year, and now that the ordeal was over, the world seemed brighter. In fact, there was a world of possibilities I hadn't thought about in about a year because I had felt so limited.
Resume.
2014 was a good year. I learned how to be selfish. I learned how to be selfless. I put aside differences and reconciled old friendships. I cut loose toxic people. I learned how to channel Beyonce and do a sassy Beyonce stomp. I joined lesser-known social networks and met complete strangers, creating new friendships with several. I am now officially three-quarters through my graduate program, with a kickass GPA. And, believe it or not, I have found myself to be so hilarious I've opened myself up to the Internet and publicized my two and a half years old Twitter account (follow me if you dare - @frumpyjellyfish). The news is now more interesting than in the past, and I enjoy discussing current events with my friends.
Downs include being forced to be long-distance with my boyfriend of five (!!!!!!!!!!!) years, being unable to study abroad again, and a near-death experience with my car on 390 North in April.
Through the closing hours of 2014, I gathered in a garage with friends new and old. We played beer pong, set off fireworks, and drank our way through several bottles of wine, ale, and a few kegs of beer. We laughed. We chatted. We hugged.
2014 is over.
2015 is here. It's going to be a good one.
0 comments