In the end, it’s not my job to be cool.
As a writer, my job is to simply just be in the presence of cool things—I mean, think about it. JK Rowling didn’t really go to Hogwarts, she just wrote the biography of its problematic wunderkind.
So, I’m not too alarmed by how insanely cool my friends are—maybe a little intimidated or a little bit in awe. But definitely not alarmed. They are over there, doing their thing, and I’m over here, with my glasses and my notebook and my frumpy sweaters.
(But don’t worry. At the end of the movie, I’m going to take off my glasses and change my clothes and the protagonist will see that I was hot all along).
The past month, we’ve had Yotes in the Florida Keys studying environmental changes, in London visiting the Queen, in Ireland doing… whatever it is you do in Ireland, and in Utah in the auditoriums of the Sundance Film Festival. We also had a fair few students in prison. Though we don’t talk about that.
Because the thing is, C of I students have never really been limited to the borders of the campus. Our education is a little bit more focused on the moments we have while enrolled, rather than just the end game.
It’s the same as the internships and independent studies we do. If you’ve followed this blog since the beginning, you’ll know that I spent a semester last year moonlighting as my superhero alter ego, The Intern, for a newspaper in Boise. That was me living the la vida loca. My internship was the best thing that could have happened to me, straight up. If my life was illustrated in nifty graphs and colorful charts, you would have seen the line representing my skills as a writer (and as a human being) sky rocket.
I feel confident saying that my writing, now, is even better than it was back then. But I also objectively know that that improvement is only because of the path my internship put me on.
Ugggh. Wait. The path. That sounds needlessly over-the-top and cliché. Like the noir narration in a 1940’s detective movie. That would mean that right about now is the part where a wild dame, with trouble in her eyes and possibilities in her smile, walks into my darkened P.I. office to ask for help finding her missing jewelry. And I tell her I don’t have time for this, I’m busy trying to catch the man who murdered my wife. But she cries and it tugs on my grizzled, war veteran heartstrings and I tell her I’ll help her. But, plot twist, she was really the man who murdered my wife all along. And my wife? Those were the missing jewels she was talking about.
Anyways, sorry, back to the real world.
Like I said, C of I students are a hell of lot more than just the sum of their parts. Which is really just a fancy schmancy, pretentious writer way of saying that we like to live outside the box. Screw the box. The box is boring. The box is a regular ol’ frontier. And you gotta aim for the final one.
Annnnnnnnnnd that satisfies my weekly quota for Star Trek references. Great job, team. Let’s call it day.
Until next week,
Ashley is a junior Creative Writing major from Payette, Idaho.