My Two-Cents: Seeing and Punching
Coming up on the final 100 meters of the last lap of college, Senior Year in the flesh, I can’t help but reminisce. And think of how much has changed in the past four years. The other day I asked my friend if he thought he was smarter than he was four years ago. He replied he wasn’t sure. Then I had to think about the answer for myself – am I smarter than I was four years ago? School wise? I hope so but I’m really not sure. Fingers crossed my money went to something! But there are some days when I feel stupider, oops! Not actually though -- I think the world through my eyes has just gotten bigger. And with that increase in size, I see less of the things I know and more of the things I don’t. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, since I’m always a proponent of never being the smartest person in the room. ;)
As the world has enlarged, and its vast possibilities and terrors have concurrently thrilled and engulfed me, I’ve become smarter in one specific aspect: I like the way I look at problems now.
Maybe that’s all college is – discovering you like the way you think. Discovering you like the way your own two eyes see the world. That is the only thing that’s ever completely in our control. I wish I could talk to the wide-eyed little girl I was 4 years ago, 8 years ago, and even 12 years ago. I wish I could punch her in the fucking face. And then I wish I could help her up and pat her on the back and tell her that everything is going to be okay. Because she was really, really scared – more than she liked to admit! She was really scared of looking at problems with her own two eyes. Because if she did, she was worried that she might not find the answers. I wish I could tell her the answer is in looking these problems right in the eye and realizing we may not have the answers right now, but someday we'll know where to punch.
I can’t tell that little girl now because time travel only exists through a car driven by Doc and Marty McFly in Back to the Future. That means I also can’t punch her in the face – so I’m left with option B, where I offer her (and me) kindness. Kindness for how she found a way with what she knew at the time to make it where she is right now, writing. Writing to let whoever else might be where that little girl is that it's going to be okay – you’re going to be okay! One day, through trial and error and really good friends, you will get to say to yourself -- I like the way I look at problems. I like the way my two eyes see, and I love the way my two hands fucking punch.
