The Times, They Are a Changin

I'm not entirely happy with these, but given the time crunch... I'm not embarrassed by them either.


Prompt #1
Once I realized who I was meant to be it was suddenly simple to put my many side projects in perspective. The summer before my senior year of high school where a friend and I attempted to write and film our first film, my scathing editorials during my senior year, my decision to start acting on stage in college, and my endless obsession with updating a public blog for my private thoughts suddenly took on new significance. I had initially applied as a journalism major to university because I thought that it was a practical way to make a living as a writer. It didn’t take me long to realize that reporting wasn’t where I needed to be and so I spent the better part of three years roving around the academic landscape like a nomad.

It was about a year ago when Marty, my usually morose and downtrodden roommate, burst into my room like an unbundled ball of giddy energy. I looked up from my report on President Ford’s Cold War policies to see Marty beaming like a proud parent fresh from the nursery. “Dude”, he proclaimed, “ I did it! I’ve been up for 24 hours but I did it! I just filmed my first short film and it’s awesome!” He was so ecstatic at his accomplishment that he practically skipped out of the room.

Meanwhile, my report stared back at me. As I reread it in search of inspiration all I saw was an overwhelming sense that my paper betrayed a frustrating lack of engagement. I tried to return back to the pile of research on my bed, but it was no use. My mind was racing, and I needed an outlet. Instinctively I pulled out a blank notebook and as soon as pencil touched paper all of my pent-up frustration came firing out of me for the first time in months.

Months later, my creative writing professor Les walked into class a few minutes early. I was scribbling away in my journal; my other classes had left me so academically numb that the only way to jolt myself back to my life was to continue writing before I went to creative writing class. Les rifled through some papers, before bluntly asking me a question I had never heard. “Have you ever tried writing?” he asked without a trace of sarcasm. He moved closer with my previous assignment in his hand. “I mean, actually writing. Not stopping every other word to check for spelling, for grammar, for that Perfect Word. Just write, without stopping, and see what comes out”.

At first, my sentences lurched forward without cadence or rhythm. Nonsense begat rubbish, but slowly something began to emerge. I had an idea for a novel that had been locked away for months. I unconsciously pushed on and as I began to un-spool my story a smile crept across my face. That night, I gave birth to Jamie Brand and what I hope will one day be my first full novel.

Up until last semester I still clung to my major and hoped against hope that I’d suddenly wake up one day and once again find President Ford’s Cold War policies interesting. Instead, I finally woke up one day and realized that no matter how many International Relations courses I took that I was a writer. Writing isn’t just an occupation for me; it defines who I am, how I act, and where I’m going.

Prompt #2

I came to Dublin with a tremendous amount of baggage. I was bitterly exhausted from spending the better part of three years trying to make myself into someone I simply wasn’t. Gigantic lecture halls gave way to rote memorization, disinterested professors, and a hollow academic core. On campus I failed to make friends with Senator’s sons and executive’s daughters; off campus I attempted to carve out my own niche with mixed success. Eventually I realized that the further I got from Boston University, the more I thrived intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually. As I hopped onto the plane to a semester abroad in Dublin, I hopped that this time it would be different.

Almost immediately, Dublin reminded of the reasons why I came to Boston in the first place. Leaving California I thought that I had potential that I was going to be something more than a face in the crowd. Instead of having this potential reinforced and grown, I spent the better part of three years running headfirst into a brick wall. Dublin reawakened myself to the possibility that maybe I am different, unique, and just a titch off-center. Suddenly, I sat enthralled by lecturers, giddily approaching lecturers after class about an obscure but nonetheless intriguing point made thirty minutes ago. Someone said to me after class “Every time you speak, it’s like you’ve got a lot going on up there”. I hadn’t heard that in two years.

Despite my limited time at Dublin City University, I threw myself into new experiences with renewed vigor. I enrolled myself in a Model United Nations conference where I was known only as “The American”. Later in the semester, while my peers rarely socialized outside of other Americans or tourists, I joined a theater group and performed in a student-written and directed drama in front of an entirely Irish audience. I formed more lasting friendships in three weeks than I had in three years. Suddenly I found myself not only enjoying life but also excelling at it.

As I wracked my brain for a proper topic for Prompt #2, every personal statement I wrote inevitably ended up describing my personal growth in Dublin. Those three months abroad gave me the confidence needed to admit that Boston will never be home for me. For the first time since high school I’ve found a subject that interests and inspires me. I can sense a vague potential in me once again. I’m confident about my future, even if it means once again marching into the unknown.