I have always thought of myself as a decent student. While I was certainly never the girl with color-coded notes, assignment spreadsheets, or pre-planned study schedules, I knew how to work hard. I was intimately familiar with my own capabilities, and I knew that I could walk away with a grade that I was happy with if I applied enough effort when necessary. And for all intents and purposes, this system worked well … for high-school me.
Time passes even as I type these words. Time passes as I worry about time passing. Time passes as I ponder what to do about time passing.
When was the last time you were touched by a piece of art? While a seemingly simple question, I have found myself stumped.
Not all heroes wear capes. Or so I thought, as I walked by Shea Field and stumbled upon a sight I never expected—a coyote frozen under a layer of permafrost.
You see, I have recently found myself feeling stuck in a bog of bleh—a void of lethargy and nothingness. In it, identity feels irrelevant, purpose seems excessive, ideals feel presumptuous, and goals are downright impossible.
My assumption about the meaningfulness of life’s individual details was challenged by the innocent appearance of a camera, and it was forced to buckle.
It’s a rather odd confession to make, but I must say I’ve reached the point in my semester where I am starting to regret that my creativity is not boundless.
It is very easy to swap our honest imperfections with more impermeable exteriors, but we become much more confident and self-assured when we refuse to mask our unflattering qualities.
Although I can wholeheartedly understand the anti-Valentine’s sentiment—my forever valentine is none other than my dear mother—I cannot say that I feel the same. Valentine’s Day has always been my favorite holiday.
I just spent my morning in a ditch. I mean, it was more of a mental ditch, but it was a ditch nonetheless.
