A conversation I had with a freshman the other day went
something like this:
Freshman: What year are you?
Me: I’m a senior!
Freshman: Oh, are you thinking of applying here?
Me:
Me: I’m a senior!
Freshman: Oh, are you thinking of applying here?
Me:
***
And I mean, I don’t blame her. Besides being five foot
two and having a tiny face that is usually half obscured by hair, I simply don’t
carry myself like a college senior. I’ve got the jaded, look-what-CMU-did-to-me
part down pretty well, but the beaming confidence? the bright, knowledgeable
eyes? the I’m-a-real-adult posture? I’ve got none of that.
The crazy thing about this universe is that it’s just one
universe, and there’s only one of each of us in it. And who knows, maybe there’s
another universe, or a billion other universes, and a billion better versions
of me, but the only me that I’ll ever be is the one in this world, the one that’s
being created by every decision I make, the one who can’t rewind time even by
one second, the one who could have been anyone, and could have done anything,
but is just me, sitting here drinking beer and writing sad things.
It’s like we all started off at the same place, with an
infinite number of futures ahead of us, but while everyone seemed to choose the
right paths, I took a wrong turn somewhere. Four years ago, we were all at the
brink of becoming great people. Four years later, I wish I could go back and try
it again.
One of my best friends here started out as a physics
major, just like me. We took all the same classes freshman year, but while 112
became the bane of my existence, programming came easy to him. By the next
year, he had switched into electrical and computer engineering. Now he has two
full-time job offers and several upcoming interviews on top of that. All I’ve
got is a few unfinished, mediocre grad school applications.
My brother always stood on the sidelines during high
school dances. But throughout college, he joined two dance companies and
transformed into a talented dancer that I can barely even recognize on stage as
the guy who once wore huge glasses and told me to give boys my number in the form of a system of equations. He went to college and got swag. I went to college and got awkward.
But I don’t know, maybe this just wasn’t my time. Maybe I’m
just a late bloomer. I always feel as if it’s too late, as if at 21 years old I’ve
already hit my peak, and that whatever I haven’t done yet will never get done. But
like Marina Keegan said, “The notion that it’s too late to do anything is
comical. It’s hilarious … We’re so young. We can’t, we MUST not lose this sense
of possibility because in the end, it’s all we have.”
So I’ve decided that it’s only half-time. I can still
win.
-B.
-B.
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