It was like a soundtrack to my middle school days, the time when I was most musically out of it. Back then I didn't know the words to any Boyz II Men songs, and I didn't understand the big deal about that "Kirk" guy from a rock band blowing his head off. This was the brief period where I regularly enjoyed country music. Here's something I bet NONE of you knew about me: I've been to a Reba McEntire concert. It was 1994. And when she sang "Fancy" as her encore, I stood up and hollered in delight.
All the classics were on the disc. "Boot Scootin Boogie," "I Got Friends in Low Places," "Seminole Wind," "Don't Take the Girl." This was the soundtrack to my drive from the stresses of school to the freedom of vacation. Once "John Deere Greene" blasted through the car speakers, Spring Break 2004 was officially under way.
Dave dropped me off at my front door in Pensacola early in the night. I had just enough time to do my laundry and pack before waking up for my 8 am flight to New York. Between checking in my luggage and the walk to airport security, I vented to my dad about some of my worries over this upcoming trip to New York and Las Vegas. What if I freeze during my interview? What if the guys want to visit the Bunny Ranch and I get scared? What if the bright lights of Sin City leave me with empty pockets? What if someone steals my suitcase full of dress shirts?
It was in the middle of that dress-shirt concern that I paid attention and heard myself talking. I was being ridiculous, overly worrisome, too negative. I told my dad that I thought I needed to lighten up and quit worrying about all the bad that could happen and start focusing on the good. My dad agreed, vehemently.
I stepped aboard my compact jet with the other 4 passengers and slept the entire ride to Dallas (makes sense to stop by Texas when you're going from Florida to New York, right?). For five minutes in the Dallas airport, I thought about my upcoming interview with St. John's University. Eighty people invited for interviews, 12 spots, only 6 in my field. It didn't phase me. I wasn't going to fly thousands of miles and get dressed in a suit to stutter and not show those guys what I can really do.
I had one more plane ride. This time, I had the privilege of sitting next to an obese man... in a suit... dampened with his own sweat... and his fat overriding across my seat... as he wheezed in and out... while reading a Penthouse magazine. I leaned into the aisle-- I'm sure to his awareness-- and read up on my Vegas gambling book (Chapter 6: Craps). In a few hours I would be in a far away place known as New York City, but I would not be alone. My aunt, uncle, and cousins would be waiting for me at the airport, and we'd go to an incredible Italian restaurant in the city, and on the way we'd pick up my best friend from home, who happens to live in Manhattan now. I'd be with the ones I love, in the city I love, eating the food I love. I figured this was a well-deserving way to begin Spring Break, surrounding myself with the things I love.
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