This blog has been on my heart for almost a decade now. It’s so wild to think about how we’re wrapping up yet another decade. It feels like just yesterday that it was December 31, 1999, 11:59:30 p.m., and I was sitting in the den with my parents watching the ball drop on TV and contemplating what the next 30 seconds would bring. Death? Destruction? Dick Clark saying, “Happy New Year!”?
For months we’d heard Y2K rhetoric. The world was coming to an end or at least life as we know it would never be the same. And in a sense, at the turn of the century, things would be different. No one knew what that meant other than a possible blackout. I stressed about this shit for months. I wasn’t ready to die.
I wanted to be a Hot Girl like the ones the Hot Boys sang about.
I was a virgin and wanted to at least find out if I was cut out to be the hoe I was singing about with Cash Money. I wanted to get to an N’Sync concert and marry Silk the Shocker. I had shit to do and the world coming to an end would disrupt my plans. I always wanted to be a Fly Girl but In Living Color got canceled and now I had my eyes set on becoming a future video girl and a news reporter. I practiced throwing that ass in a circle all year long and the rapture was going to end my life before it could it start. (God, I don’t know how I made it through high school as a virgin with this mentality.)
When the remaining seconds of 1999 hit, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Then came midnight..and nothing. I opened my eyes and everything was the same. Nothing had changed. I was still 11-years-old with an entire life ahead of me. All that worrying for nothing. There was still time to be a ho(e).
Y2K was supposed to blow us all to smithereens but that was just another manmade distraction. And here we are, weeks away from 2020 and I’m feeling the same. I’m not really interested in being a profitable ho(e) as I was at age 11, but now at 31, I am equally worried as to whether I’m making the most of the time that I’ve been given.
My life goals have always seemed miles away. For the first time, I’m one email away from changing my own life. Everything I want is on the other side of fear.
But in the words of my lifelong friend Amy, “I could rule the world if only I could get out of my own fucking head.”
On Monday, I went back to my alma mater to speak on a panel about media entrepreneurship. I almost declined the invite because work had been slow lately and I was feeling real Tommy-ish.
You thought I was going to say Tommy from Martin?
Nah, Tommy Egan from Power. I won’t claim being jobless or speak from a place of lack, but just like Tommy I’m doing what’s best for me, and the people in my life, but somehow shit just keeps getting out of hand. Three weeks before the event, I didn’t have any jobs lined up and a few days prior, I’d locked down four gigs that will keep me afloat until February which would give me more time to write and not have to focus on finding work. Look at God.
We had a great panel and I was transparent with the audience about my struggles with anxiety and depression and how I was still “figuring things out” after four years of freelancing full-time. At the end, I had time to chat with one of two of my most valued instructors from the Mass Communication Department.
Mr. Nortz, me, and Professor Howell at the Mass Comm Dinner in 2009.
Mr. Nortz and I caught up about changes in the department and I shared with him a few things that I’m working on. He then reminded me of a time in my life that I’d like to forget, but also a period that continues to show up as a recurring theme in my life.
Spring 2009. I was so drunk that the entire semester is a blur.
This photo represents my first legal drink. I’d only had alcohol once during senior week in Myrtle Beach. I was 18 years old and got drunk on Smirnoff’s and quick realized that the alcohol life wasn’t for me. But one bad break up and making a decision to party every weekend for an entire semester, I found cranberry and vodka to be a great coping mechanism at age 21.
Although I’d waited until junior year to start partying, my GPA was solid. I had a 3.4 and was awarded a scholarship for my work as a young journalist and was inducted into an honor society.
That semester, I realized that I could graduate early and I’d finished all of the core broadcasting classes in the department. To me, I saw no need to hang out in the department like I had been doing. I literally got to college and planned out my four years in a matter of an hour.(Y’all, I knew all the classes I wanted to take and which professors I wanted. Auntie was focused.) After 3 years of late-night video editing, crying over math quizzes, and completing two unrequired internships, college was coming to an end. I’d finally reached my destination, but my parents and I agreed that I wasn’t mature enough to enter the workforce and I should stay for senior year and spread out any remaining credits that I needed. I now recognize the privilege of having prepaid education.
Above all, I worked hard and had my eyes set to win the “Outstanding Senior” award in the Mass Comm Department.
Mr. Nortz and Professor Howell started breathing down my neck at the start of senior year. Nortz was the first to speak up. He realized I was veering off my course.
I had forgotten about a particular conversation we had in 2009 but here we are in 2019 and it was another divine intervention that I needed.
I had no clue as to what he was about to tell me and then he said, “You really pissed me off.” And then I remembered. I was pouring all of my energy into my sorority. At the start of senior year, Nortz said, “Tyler, where do you need to be that is so important?” and I responded, “I have a chapter meeting with my sorority.” He tried to use reverse psychology on me and asked, “Do you need to be there? Are they paying you? Why are you so focused on them?” And I responded, “You don’t understand,” to which he followed up, “You’re damn right, I don’t understand.”
Ouch.
I remember at the time how much it hurt knowing that he was disappointed in me, but also, I was a young woman trying my best to fit in. The Mass Comm department had been my place of refuge when I lost my grandmother four months into college and the department was also where I hid from a toxic relationship. Somehow, I thought I’d outgrew my peers and focused my attention elsewhere.
A year passed by and the only time I went to Johnson Hall (home to the Mass Comm and theater departments) was to take three final classes: media law, media ethics, and senior portfolio. I no longer spent my evenings editing videos in an edit bay or in the studio trying to figure out how to be Oprah.
I was too busy chasing boys, applying for jobs, and living out my Hot Girl dreams.
By the time my final semester rolled around, my life was on fire.
My three-year relationship ended (that shit needed to), my best friend since middle school and I had an ugly fight (writing a movie about that), my mom thought I was a drunk (she was scared I was going to get drunk and rob a bank, sis, really?), and two weeks before graduation I was raped and said goodbye to my grandmother. I was hanging on by a thread, little did I know I was about to fall off a cliff.
My last shot at redemption would come at the annual Mass Comm dinner. The year prior I’d won many honors and I expected no different this time around. By the end of the ceremony, it was time to announce Outstanding Senior. Just like the remaining moments before Y2K, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. By the time I opened my eyes, here I was again sitting. Nothing had changed. This time the metaphorical ball drop wouldn’t be on my TV. It was me watching Eddie Scarry (yes..THAT Eddie Scarry) take the stage to accept the award that I wanted so desperately.
I was CRUSHED.
Me on the outside watching Eddie win the award.
Me on the inside watching Eddie win the award.
I was disgusted. Several of my classmates whispered to me throughout the evening, “I’m sorry” and “That award should’ve been yours.” And yes, it should’ve been. I spoke to my mentor who was on the voting committee and apparently there had been some discord as to why the honor didn’t go to me. Hell, I’d worked hard.
The following day, I visited Professor Howell in his office to demand an explanation. I cried and expressed my frustration and went down the list of things I’d done in the department that made me more deserving than Eddie. And his response still haunts me to this day. Professor Howell simply replied to my temper tantrum and said, “You checked out on us.” He went on to say that the award is for an outstanding senior, not outstanding freshman, sophomore, and junior. He felt as if I traded my ambition for a chance to be popular among the Greeks.
I rejected his answer and he looked at me like this:
It was done. Graduation was a few days away and I couldn’t recover the lost time or my tarnished reputation. I’d let him down. I loved him so much and my own ego got in the way. I held a grudge against him for 9 years. It wasn’t until last year that I realized that he was right. I have a habit of self-sabotaging when I’m on a brink of a breakthrough. The Outstanding Senior award was the first of many opportunities I’ve fumbled over the last decade because I allowed my anxiety and distractions to knock me off my game. When I feel myself “checking out,” I isolate myself from loved ones and push away anyone that tries to get close to me. Because I am actively building my future, I can’t afford yet another period of self-pity and isolation.
I started writing this blog last summer and had every intention of sharing it with him and making amends. My grandmother shaped my storytelling and Professor Howell refined my presentation. Both of them are gone.
Professor Howell passed away in February and I never got a chance to thank him for teaching me one of my greatest life lessons.
I’m working through a lot of shit. Age 30 presented several grand revelations and 31 is teaching me accountability for my toxic habits. Just like my senior year of college I’ve checked out on my self-care routine, gotten behind on writing daily, and failed to followup on major opportunities. Some days, I don’t feel like I deserve nice things. Anxiety will do that to you.
We spend so much time sharing inspirational quotes on Instagram and Facebook about learning to walk away from people, places, and things that no longer serve you, or learning to rely on self when the world lets you down. What do you do when you’re the one that’s stunting your growth?
I don’t know the answer, but I’m on a mission to find out. I’ve been journaling every night taking inventory of my thoughts from the day journaling each entry as, “(Un)Becoming.” And I’m realizing that much of my despair comes from negative self-talk.
You can’t be good for anyone else when you’re busy destroying your own well-being. 1999, 2009, and 2019 all brought about pivotal moments for me. I want to walk into this new decade with more grace and consistency. Imagine what any of us could be if we spent a decade following through with what we were put here to do and not worry about trivial matters. I was worried back then about my future and history has shown that I will be okay. Life is only difficult when we choose to live it that way.
While my professors weren’t fans of me joining a sorority, I have one thing from the experience that I carry with me to this day. If I learned nothing from my days of pledging, I’ll remember this line from the poem, Don’t Quit, that we were made to recite.
“So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit. It’s when things go wrong when you must not quit.”
Love every part of this!
Thank you, Sharee xoxo