It May Not Have Been A Zombie Apocalypse, But You Still Survived
Dear Self,
We both know that you are a born worrier. You're the kind of person that freaks out left, right and centre when something goes awry. And you're definitely not the calmest crayon in the box--nah, you'd be that crazy kind of crayon that only the kids with melty-waxy-crayon-maker-thingies could have, because they put all their super-awkward stubby crayons that broke or have no point or whatever and make them into a Franken-crayon... and most of the more avant-garde ones will put a brown or black or something in there and everything just gets mucky and awful, haha. But anyway, that crayon? That crayon is you.
Now Me, don't get me wrong here. Just because you're some sort of mutant hybrid Franken-crayon does not mean you are actually insane (clinically, anyway). All it means is that you're unique, just like every other crayon in the box, but perhaps not exactly in the way you'd like. But that's okay. What if orange-red would have preferred to be red-orange? Everyone's got little flaws and imperfections that they live with, they try to improve on, but most importantly, they don't sit and dwell on them forever. They get on with their lives because life sure as heck ain't waiting around for them.
I'm going to make this fairly quick because you have many things you should be studying right now and this is not helping your progress through all that material. But you know what? Sit your butt down and read what I'm writing to you because you need to know it. You need to chew on this for a bit.
First of all, I want to bring your attention back to something you may or may not remember writing. That thing called a Valedictorian speech. Oh, right, you would remember that because you stressed yourself out about it so much. Why is it that you always remember what you stress yourself half to death over? Aha, see? Food for thought.
Anyway, you wrote that the most important lesson Carter ever taught you was that "things are possible and they CAN be done". That lesson has never been more tried (or more true!) than it has been for us this year.
So we started off our first year at university with Move-In day--that's when everything that you were kind of excited about and kind of s---ting bricks over since Orientation Day (July 5th) and Welcome Day (August 5th) actually came true. All your boxes were unpacked, your bed was made, and everything in your room was steamed--thanks, Mom!!
You may not want to admit it to yourself, but saying goodbye to your family that night was one of the hardest things your little heart ever had to do.
At least Welcome Week swept you up in early mornings and energetic days and super-late nights and bajillions of new faces and names and people and smiles and activities... there was always something to do, someone to meet, somewhere to be.
Then classes started and you sort of eased yourself--okay, let's cut the BS right here. You had a major panic attack. In retrospect, I laugh at how stupid you were, hyperventilating over not having an iClicker for the first day of class. You silly child. But at the time I know it was a big deal for you and you were seriously flipping the eff out and I wish someone had told you that you didn't need the stupid thing for the whole first week... it might've saved you some excess cortisol.
You eventually did get the hang of it and even though you were terrified and feeling un-confident, you ran for first year rep anyway--even I don't understand your logic sometimes--and fortunately, you actually got it! That was beautiful window of opportunity for both of us--and I personally think you did a great job this year. Somehow, despite all the setbacks and the obstacles that literally jumped out in front of you in hazmat suits, you did it. (okay, so not literally...)
So things went weirdly smooth that first term. No huge stressors other than your usual freak outs about deadlines and schoolwork. Eh, no big deal. Your inquiry interviews reflected exactly how well-established you felt; as if everything was all peachy and too-good-to-be-true.
Turns out it was. Figures.
So then second term rolls around and suddenly it feels like everything's gone to crap. You're depressed for a full week and it's just generally terrible because you have no flippin' clue why you feel like someone killed your best imaginary friend that saved you from an exploding jam sandwich in elementary school.
Things start to kind of look up... but then comes the first chem midterm and you're freaking out again, then you've got projects coming out the wazoo, dance competition is just around the corner and all the FYC responsibilities start piling up and deadlines get pushed back so far you don't know if life is even plausible anymore and the second chem midterm comes up and you're scared for peoples' lives now and you realize the famjam might not be as okay as Dad's emails make them sound.
You hit a bit of a rough patch.
But look, you made it out alive! I'd say relatively unscathed, but that might be a bit of a lie. Haha.
And you know what? You will always remember those things that stressed you out so terribly, but you'll also remember the great things that came with this incredible alskjdfawoier of a year. You'll remember all the people you met, all the amazing bonds you formed, all the wonderful things your friends did for you and that you got to do for and with your friends, and all the things you learned about yourself and the people you love and care about, all the experiences you had and all the mistakes that you made that became life lessons learned the hard way. And you didn't even need any ethanol to catalyze the formation of any of those bonds! (Sorry, I couldn't resist :P)
So good job, Self! You made it through a tough year, but you made it through stronger for it. I'm proud of you--you should be proud of you, too.
Love,
Sabrina
We both know that you are a born worrier. You're the kind of person that freaks out left, right and centre when something goes awry. And you're definitely not the calmest crayon in the box--nah, you'd be that crazy kind of crayon that only the kids with melty-waxy-crayon-maker-thingies could have, because they put all their super-awkward stubby crayons that broke or have no point or whatever and make them into a Franken-crayon... and most of the more avant-garde ones will put a brown or black or something in there and everything just gets mucky and awful, haha. But anyway, that crayon? That crayon is you.
Now Me, don't get me wrong here. Just because you're some sort of mutant hybrid Franken-crayon does not mean you are actually insane (clinically, anyway). All it means is that you're unique, just like every other crayon in the box, but perhaps not exactly in the way you'd like. But that's okay. What if orange-red would have preferred to be red-orange? Everyone's got little flaws and imperfections that they live with, they try to improve on, but most importantly, they don't sit and dwell on them forever. They get on with their lives because life sure as heck ain't waiting around for them.
I'm going to make this fairly quick because you have many things you should be studying right now and this is not helping your progress through all that material. But you know what? Sit your butt down and read what I'm writing to you because you need to know it. You need to chew on this for a bit.
First of all, I want to bring your attention back to something you may or may not remember writing. That thing called a Valedictorian speech. Oh, right, you would remember that because you stressed yourself out about it so much. Why is it that you always remember what you stress yourself half to death over? Aha, see? Food for thought.
Anyway, you wrote that the most important lesson Carter ever taught you was that "things are possible and they CAN be done". That lesson has never been more tried (or more true!) than it has been for us this year.
So we started off our first year at university with Move-In day--that's when everything that you were kind of excited about and kind of s---ting bricks over since Orientation Day (July 5th) and Welcome Day (August 5th) actually came true. All your boxes were unpacked, your bed was made, and everything in your room was steamed--thanks, Mom!!
You may not want to admit it to yourself, but saying goodbye to your family that night was one of the hardest things your little heart ever had to do.
At least Welcome Week swept you up in early mornings and energetic days and super-late nights and bajillions of new faces and names and people and smiles and activities... there was always something to do, someone to meet, somewhere to be.
Then classes started and you sort of eased yourself--okay, let's cut the BS right here. You had a major panic attack. In retrospect, I laugh at how stupid you were, hyperventilating over not having an iClicker for the first day of class. You silly child. But at the time I know it was a big deal for you and you were seriously flipping the eff out and I wish someone had told you that you didn't need the stupid thing for the whole first week... it might've saved you some excess cortisol.
You eventually did get the hang of it and even though you were terrified and feeling un-confident, you ran for first year rep anyway--even I don't understand your logic sometimes--and fortunately, you actually got it! That was beautiful window of opportunity for both of us--and I personally think you did a great job this year. Somehow, despite all the setbacks and the obstacles that literally jumped out in front of you in hazmat suits, you did it. (okay, so not literally...)
So things went weirdly smooth that first term. No huge stressors other than your usual freak outs about deadlines and schoolwork. Eh, no big deal. Your inquiry interviews reflected exactly how well-established you felt; as if everything was all peachy and too-good-to-be-true.
Turns out it was. Figures.
So then second term rolls around and suddenly it feels like everything's gone to crap. You're depressed for a full week and it's just generally terrible because you have no flippin' clue why you feel like someone killed your best imaginary friend that saved you from an exploding jam sandwich in elementary school.
Things start to kind of look up... but then comes the first chem midterm and you're freaking out again, then you've got projects coming out the wazoo, dance competition is just around the corner and all the FYC responsibilities start piling up and deadlines get pushed back so far you don't know if life is even plausible anymore and the second chem midterm comes up and you're scared for peoples' lives now and you realize the famjam might not be as okay as Dad's emails make them sound.
You hit a bit of a rough patch.
But look, you made it out alive! I'd say relatively unscathed, but that might be a bit of a lie. Haha.
And you know what? You will always remember those things that stressed you out so terribly, but you'll also remember the great things that came with this incredible alskjdfawoier of a year. You'll remember all the people you met, all the amazing bonds you formed, all the wonderful things your friends did for you and that you got to do for and with your friends, and all the things you learned about yourself and the people you love and care about, all the experiences you had and all the mistakes that you made that became life lessons learned the hard way. And you didn't even need any ethanol to catalyze the formation of any of those bonds! (Sorry, I couldn't resist :P)
So good job, Self! You made it through a tough year, but you made it through stronger for it. I'm proud of you--you should be proud of you, too.
Love,
Sabrina