Exit Stage Left

And so it ends. After months of endless internal debate, sudden musings, and repeated epiphanies I’ve finally committed to something other than my vanity.

Starting in September, I will no longer be attending Boston University. Instead, I’ll be majoring in Creative Writing over at University of California – Riverside.

The acceptance process finally came to an end a few days ago. Since then I have labored over every word, formed list upon list and stumbled through the past year of memories in hopes of accurately explaining why, after three years under the B.U. aegis, I’ve decided to gamble against a safe fourth year in favor of a brand new world of anxiety and anticipation. My reasons for leaving Boston are well documented elsewhere, and for now I’ve surely told that tale enough. Instead, this is a brief look at how I finally came to terms with my decision to attend another university.

Even before I left for Ireland, the idea of transferring started to sound appealing. After visiting a close friend at another school I felt overwhelming pangs of envy for the life he had. I wanted his small cadre of confidantes who could dish out life-affirming advice seconds before urging you to do a beer bong. I wanted to be enraptured by the easygoing atmosphere that pervaded Ann Arbor. Mostly though, I wanted to feel something, anything at all.

There’s an old quote that I had originally planned to use in my attempt to speak at my high school graduation. Although I ultimately never spoke, I’ve had the quote lodged in my brain ever since. Alan Chalmers once said that the essentials of happiness were something to do, something to love, and something to hope for. With classes as dull as the students who populated them, I gave up searching for the first two. All I had was the hope of a few months in Ireland to sort everything out.

If Boston was like living life in black and white, Ireland was glorious Technicolor. Everywhere I went, everyone I met, everything I did suddenly became interesting and worthwhile again. For the first time in three years I respected, confided, and engaged my Professors in meaningful conversation. Even at the most chintzy of pubs I found people with stories with telling and lives worth living. I spent night after night gazing out over Dublin wondering over my future with excitement instead of dread. Even when I felt the slight tinge of disappointment I actively worked to change my situation. When I grew tired of going to the same pubs with the same people, I threw myself into the local student population with very little but my wits and all too obvious American accent. Things, as they say, were falling into place.

Naturally then, it was time for the tides to turn. I received a message from B.U. reminding me that I had a week until I had to register for classes. I promptly deleted the message, downed the cheapest and strongest Vodka I had and staggered out into the street looking to get lost. Completely blitzed, I returned to my room hours later and immediately called a friend from home. I broke down completely and utterly as I confided, “I couldn’t go back”. I looked in the mirror and realized that for once I actually liked the person I was becoming and I couldn’t bear to regress by returning to the stifling and dead halls of Boston University.

Still, the thought of transferring remained little more than a pipedream. I only had a year left, and what little research I had done towards transferring was a blur of expired deadlines and sour news. Faced with no other options I resolved to go back to Boston, be miserable for a year, and then perhaps my real life would begin. Practically it was the only route to take. Emotionally though, the decision to stay was as false a note as any of my other self-believed lies.

Even with the specter of a miserly fourth year ahead, I found myself enjoying Ireland and the people I met even more as the days went by. There’s a particular night that remains an apt summation of my entire time abroad. I was getting ready to head back to my room after the first night of a DCU Drama performance. For weeks I had spent time an hour or two rehearsing with a group of strangers that slowly became friends that I enjoyed spending time with. I followed the group to a local pub near campus and we had a few beers and just talked about life, our crazy stories, and why redheads have the most fun. The conversation wasn’t particularly deep, but I remember laughing and drinking and smiling and enjoying something besides my own smug self-awareness. “Hmm”, I thought. “So this is what it feels like to be happy”.

Days later, I lay in bed next to Moderately Attractive Blonde as the sunlight cracked through the blinds. We had met at the local club hours ago and spent the better part of the night exchanging the stories of our lives over more than a few rounds of drinks. She’s leaving in two weeks to spend at least a year in Australia. Originally, she had decided to stay in Ireland but a few relationships went sour and left her looking for something new. I’ve got two years on her, but she seems entirely at peace with who she is and what her future will bring. She asks me why, if I’m unhappy, I didn’t just leave. All I can tell her is that I’ve got a lack of options. She tells me that there’s always an option and holds me tighter.

I know it seems silly to say this, but it was ultimately a movie that finally forced to realize that life was too short to be spent on something I didn’t love. As my time grew ever shorter, I felt as if everything about me was at war with itself. After months of looking forward to previews, I bought a ticket to go see Forgetting Sarah Marshall. In downtown Dublin, I watched as Jason Segel and Mila Kunis had their first honest conversation along the Hawaiian coast. She asked him about his job as a television composer and after Jason’s weak attempt at convincing her that he likes it, Mila forces out the truth in him. “Oh my god!” She roared. “You fucking hate it!” She cackled with delight. A smile crept up on Jason’s face as he admits that he hates his situation. Suddenly, Mila turned serious and simply told him “then change it”. I walked out of the theater with a new found sense of freedom; on the bus ride back to campus I felt as if I were floating high above reality, able to choose my next destination with a simple snap of the wrist.

As soon as I came back to California, I sent out my application to UCR. At first, I tell myself that I won’t necessarily say yes, that it’s just a way to expand my options. A few weeks later, I stood with a friend and watched Rilo Kiley deliver a beautiful version of “Pictures of Success” under the cool San Diego breeze. As Jenny Lewis repeated the refrain that “They say that California is a recipe for a black hole. And I say that I’ve got my best shoes on” I turned to my friend and admitted that if I got accepted I’d transfer.

So here I sit, a few months out from yet another round of this grand experiment we call life. I know that a change in locale isn’t going to solve all of my problems overnight, but this has been a long time in the making. Every single emotional impulse in me has been screaming at me that Boston hasn’t been right, and it’s just taken me this long to realize it. When I actually did research on UCR and their fantastic creative writing program, I knew where I belonged. I’m not saying that California is truly my permanent home, but for the next two years…. it feels right.

In closing, I feel as if the only appropriate way to end this is to quote what I said three years ago. Find something you want to do with your life, not something you feel you must do. Find someone to love, someone to share your life with, and someone to hold onto when the rest of the world is falling apart. Finally, find something to hope for, so that when we take our last breathes we know we've made a difference.