Sophomore

“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity.” ~Gilda Radner Wilder

May 15, 2013
It was finished!

My last final. My sophomore year. As I typed the words on Facebook, I knew I couldn’t cram enough emotion into a mere status update.

The word “sophomore” is Latin for “wise fool.” I think there is a little bit of irony to that. I was never supposed to be a sophomore. I went in to college with enough credit to be a semester ahead, but not enough to be a full year ahead. In the summer after my freshmen year, I took several online credits to get ahead so that I could skip directly to being a junior. There was some fancy paperwork I had to sign, and I had to agree to take 18 credits for my final three semesters, but I was going to be able to graduate a year early.

The school year began on August 22, 2013. Ten days before my Dad was in a coma and my Mom and I were told he wouldn’t survive. While that adventure is a separate tale, the short version is that through an incredible miracle and support from our amazing family and incredible friends, my Dad made a full recovery.

Of course the story isn’t that simple. He went through a great deal of rehab—physically, mentally, and emotionally—which took a toll on my whole family—physically, mentally, and emotionally. I spent the better part of my first semester in therapy the University Center for Psychological services.

Along the way one of the best things I held onto was my work with the Boy Scouts. Being Lodge Chief for the OA lodge I am convinced saved my life in so many ways. Not only did it give me an excuse to come home and check on my family, but it gave me a great distraction to keep my mind busy. It also surrounded me with yet another layer of “family” (in addition to the scout family, church family, and real family that was already supporting us.)

The semester was an awful one. I got my first C ever. I also failed statistics. I mostly failed, because I admit, I stopped going to the class. One day, I was particularly frustrated with how things were going—my Dad’s recovery, my own therapy, trying to stay on top of school work and stay involved in scouts. I confided in my statistics professor my frustration, and he told me not to worry about his course. He said I should take the class off and go home to be with my family a night early. So I did. And I didn’t go back to that course for six weeks. It was at a convenient time in the day where I could beat rush hour traffic home, so I used it to do such.

As we approached the end of the semester, and I realized there was no way to salvage my statistics grade, the implications of failure came crashing in on me. I’d identified myself as “the straight A honors student.” It was hard enough that the C in accounting had ripped that from me. Now the F in Stats was going to crush me. On top of that, that fancy paper I had signed to graduate a year early was conditional on passing all my classes. By failing statistics, I was officially demoted to being a sophomore.

The world felt like it was crumbling.

Yet somewhere along the way, I stumbled into some sort of truth. I realized that happiness doesn’t come from what you do or what you have. It clicked for me that life is hard and unpredictable. The sense of security—which I felt had been ripped from me the day of my Dad’s accident—I realized had been an illusion all along. There is never a promise of tomorrow, and if we base our happiness on what happens to us, we will always be disappointed. In the moment, life always sucks…but things that seem overwhelming and awful can always turn out be something good. Healing eventually does come…and often scar tissue is stronger. The important thing is to live every day, laugh often, and love no matter what.

Of course as I was having all these epiphanies in therapy, they seemed very theoretical. Sure they made sense! I’d heard them since I was little. They were the type of things people put on posters and motivational speakers used to make you feel good. They were the very lessons I’d learned in Sunday School.

Being in Europe, however, has helped me put these lessons into practice. And after testing my hypothesis, I have concluded, they are all true. Overcoming stress and fear and experiencing unconditional, pure happiness really is an incredible feeling.

Not bad for the sophomore year?

From these ah-ha moments, I decided to apply for a job. I’ve submitted my resume to work in the Study Abroad office next year. I want to help other students go on adventures so they can see and do and feel what I have done this semester.

I got so engrossed in the application, that I forgot that Lad’ka was coming over to translate for me so that I could meet with the receptionist to set up a time to move out of the dorm this weekend. I was 7 minutes late for the appointment.

I grabbed my keys and rushed out of my room. My foot was feeling better today, the movement still being a little unnatural, but I felt confident bearing weight on it.

In the lobby, Lad’ka was waiting with the receptionist. As I walked up, the receptionist frowned while Lad’ka sort of jokingly rolled her eyes and smiled at me.

Through Lad’ka, the three of us talked and I signed up for a move out time—8:00am on Monday May 20^th. I am going to be able to store my things with Lad’ka while I travel, and then come back to get them when I meet my family in Prague.

“We need to do pizza again so we can say ‘goodbye,’” Lad’ka said.

“Absolutely!” I said. “We’ll do a ‘good-bye pizza’ for sure.”

Wait what?

I listened to what I had just said.

 I can’t say goodbye. I mean, I guess I knew I’d have to at some point but…wait? Goodbye?

I didn’t think I could care…I’m Zach. I’m in control. I don’t…I didn’t…I…

I don’t know what to say. I didn’t expect to feel like this. It was supposed to be an educational experience, not an emotional one. It was an adventure of doing things…but in some way, it was also a journey of meeting people.

I remember sitting on the plane back home, before I even started talking to Britney, and thinking Four months isn’t long enough to care about anyone.

Four months later, I’m glad to say I was wrong. I started making a list of the people I’ve met on this trip who I will miss. Surprisingly, I came up with 57 names.

That wasn’t supposed to happen!

But I’m so glad it did. Some very guarded part of me doesn’t exist anymore. On one hand, I don’t know what to do without it (it has suited me well for almost 20 years.) On the other hand, I look forward to the adventures and the relationships I am going to have without it.

And that note reminds me how uncertain the future is…but unlike Zach that boarded a plane on February 8^th convinced the future was a terrifying maze full of obstacles…I look forward to a future full of adventures.