I was released into the world at the close of August in the year two thousand twelve; Freshmen year in college. Stony Brook University, New York to be exact. The first of my family to have the opportunity to receive any form of post-secondary education. I had nary the slightest of ideas what to expect; no one had any advice for me except to do my best, and be responsible for the work I have. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to face.
Day one and I was ready for anything; awake about an hour before my first class, bag with notebook, pens, pencils, and other stationary prepared the night before. I spent the morning showering, getting ready in something "a college student would wear", and grabbing a good breakfast, which on this campus is neither extensive nor particularly outstanding; I bought a bagel, cream cheese, and a bottle of orange juice. I figured it would last me, but I would later find out that I would be eating more than I anticipated.
Classes were as I would have guessed for the first week of the fall semester, many freshmen filled courses. It was all explanations of the syllabus in addition to requirements and expectations for the class in the fifteen weeks ahead of us. The first week... easy. Ended the week with a little party on the Staller Steps; lots of students, met up with high school friends I hadn't seen all summer, and other high school friends, or rather acquaintances, whom I had no intention of keeping contact with after that night.
In the subsequent weeks I was motivated, determined, very driven towards getting all of my work done on time, ahead of time, days ahead of any due dates or deadlines as to have adequate time to review my work to get the best possible grade, which I dreamed as being As all around. But after the first five weeks of the semester my attitude changed, and continued to change as the time went by.
Parties, Parties, Parties.
It being my first year in college, I was finally out of the nest. No one was there to tell me what to do or what not to do. I was completely on my own; capable of making my own decisions. What I failed to gather from this back then was that I was also fully accountable for all of the actions I took and was responsible for any of the subsequent repucussions that followed them.
I had never heard of the term "Thirsty Thursday" until then. There were parties every Thursday night, and people were lining up all over campus to get rides to these parties. Not only Thursday night, but this was the same on Friday night and Saturday night as well. And that's where I was going; spending the allowance moneys my parents so graciously gave me to pay for taxi rides to and from parties, paying for entry to parties, sometimes even for friends as well, and pitching in to have someone buy us drinks from the 7/11 right off campus.
My tween stomach had never handled that much alcohol, but I must say I did so like a champ. Countless nights of drinking, getting drunk but not too drunk. It was the one thing I still credit myself for: drinking responsibly, or at least not past my own ability to manage myself. I went through many different types of alcohol over the semester, and even experienced my first blackout and my first hangover, although neither were severe nor extremely discomforting. I think I may just be lucky in that area.
With all this partying and self gratification, I was neglecting the need to study for any of my classes, do almost any of my homework, and even just waking up in time to get to my classes. Now I never drank on weeknights, but some mondays were just too much work. But it wasn't just partying that consumed this first semester.
Row, Row, Row Your Boat
Now, I did something I was actually pretty proud of. Not sure when exactly I decided, but I was convinced by Kevin's roommate, Dan, to join the rowing team with him. It was something I had never done before, and the first time I had ever heard of rowing was after watching The Social Network, the movie about Facebook. It seemed fun, and gave me something to do. The only downfalls: early AM practices as well as optional afternoon practices, which I attneded anyways, the time commitment of weekday practices and weekend meets, and the physical exhaustion after practices and having to deal with a full day of classes in between them.
I was waking up at four-thirty or five every morning during the week for indoor or outdoor practices, and rushing back after to change if I had time, grab a bite, and get to class. That graduated to not sleeping some nights before practice and then rushing to class afterwards, and was quickly followed by sleeping after practices and not attending class at all.
I began dedicating most of my time to rowing crew instead of what I had initially come to Stony Brook to do, get through my business degree and get solid grades every semester. My reasoning: I was damn good at rowing. My times were dropping constantly; I was constantly improving every race, every practice, and I had so much more potential in me. I found a sport I could compete in and one that made me feel good doing it. Being out on that water was like nothing else I could have experienced - rowing in a boat with a team of guys that I grew close to, and getting to see a sunrise almost every morning over calm water. There was nothing but the sounds of our rowing and the birds, with the occasional call or two from our coaches with instructions for the next set of drills.
Finals
Fast forward three weeks, and I was staring right at bull, holding the red cape not out to the side, but wearing it as a straitjacket. I spent the entire semester wasting my time, drinking, partying, and rowing, instead of doing what was required of me. I barely studied, barely went to class, and was now desperately scrambling to pick up the pieces of the puzzle with the timer winding down to zero. I spend hours cramming from textbooks or writing final papers for my classes; I put no effort into any one subject, and could only cover so much so fast.
Even amidst all of this cramming, I still managed to distract myself by rearranging my room, watching How I Met Your Mother, trying to come up with new ways of eating, and playing a game called DragonNest. Needless to say, I retained next to nothing, and went to each of my finals with almost no knowledge of the topics I was about to be tested on.
The first final was Calculus, and I came out of that test feeling horribly about my performance. I could tell I had done bad, but I was naive enough to think that I had done well enough to get maybe a B or C in the class. This wasn't high school, and I was about to learn that the hard way. Next was Introduction to Business for Non-Business Majors, which went reasonably since I learned a lot of it beforehand, but I was too cocky about what I thought I knew. The rest of the finals I took are a blur, but none went any good.
A week later after I had gotten home, I got the results back from my finals. I failed Calculus, a nice, bleeding, F, on my transcript: the first class I had ever failed in my entire life. But wait, there's more! I failed writing too. After writing those half-assed papers I rushed to finish, what could I expect but to fail. I was sure I'd get a B-, but that was a dream only I could have dreamed after the show I put on all semester. The rest of my classes came out not so great either.
My GPA: 1.300. I got exactly what I worked for. I was so distracted during the semester, doing anything but the work I had dedicated myself to doing at the start of the academic year. I went home knowing I was going to get ripped apart by my parents; I went home realizing I was completely responsible for everything that had happened. I wished I had my parents to yell at me to get my work done; to badger at me to remind me of the deadlines I missed on my own; to constantly remind me of what I had to do with my semester.
I went home with the solid understanding that I, on my own, completely fucked up an entire semester of my college career, and that it would severely effect me for the rest of my college career. I was the one that didn't do the necessary work and fell behind on everything. My parents of course reminded me of this throughout the entire Winter of what I, had done. Now, it was my sole intention, my main objective, to do all that was in my power to salvage myself and pull myself out of the grave I had dug for myself.
.... Next comes the story of Redemption. The relentless dedication towards pulling myself out of the ashes, and how I still managed to come short of everything I was working for ...
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