Tonight at dinner, Charlotte mentioned that a friend of ours made a plan to be more spontaneous this quarter. We all had a good laugh about Northwestern students and our over-reliance on the plan, on always needing to know what comes next and when the deadline is and what we're working towards. It was funny 'cuz it hit uncomfortably close to home.
Here at Northwestern, the syllabus is king. It's the golden map of the next ten weeks. As sad as it sounds, one of my favorite moments of the quarter is taking all four syllibi from all four of my classes and copying the assignments into my planner (oh yes...my beautiful, beautiful planner). It's a favorite moment because it gives me a glimpse into my future. I get to compare workloads to film sets to Phonathon to trips home. I get to see what days I will be freaking out and staying up late. I get to see what days I will be wasting on television (hello, "Lost"...)
I love being able to see into the future.
But that's the problem, isn't it? I'm NINETEEN. At times, especially when I remember that I will be twenty years old in a little less than two months, that feels really old, but ultimately, I am still a baby. This is the time I should be taking things a little more easy, trying new things, meeting new people, slow down, smell the flowers.
But in my head--my Northwestern-centric head--those flowers are poppies. And we all know what poppies do.
I worry that if I stop to smell the flowers, I won't ever stop smelling the flowers. I'll be That Guy, working at a Wal-Mart from here until I die in my trailer, surrounded by my cats. And I fucking hate cats.
My mom read my the riot act the other day because of this. I think that she's worried that I'm becoming her, and she doesn't want that to happen (I don't know why not. She got me out of it, and I'm pretty awesome.) This all comes down to the question of study abroad. I'd like to intern in Los Angeles instead, something that contributes to me having a job after I graduate. She wants me to pump the brakes, kid, to go to another country and sample some culture, or haggis, or some shit.
Part of me really agrees with her. I would love to go to another country. But I would also like to have a job after I graduate. I don't want to bum around LA for months and months before being stuck in a PA position for some goliath production company.
I'm a Northwestern student. I need a syllabus. I have a syllabus, and it says "Age 23: become successful." I know it's not realistic, and I know that I'm destined for horrific failure, but that's what the syllabus says, and I don't think that life is too good about handing out extensions.
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I think it's strange, operating under the assumption that pursuing success (as you so pragmatically will) and smelling the flowers are mutually exclusive things. I mean, you're going to move out to LA, and take in a place that's totally different at the same time that you're, you know, stomping on people and climbing up the Hollywood ladder. I think you and I and everyone else who's here clamoring for success have plenty of time to both smell the flowers AND become the successful corporate clones we're all striving to be. And I think you're going to be just fine. Because LA, despite everyone shitting on it, is a great place to see new things and do the kinds of reckless things that people are supposed to do while they're young and naive. I know. I live there. So relax. You're 19. The world owes you nothing, and you owe it nothing back. Take it by the horns and ride it for a while.
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