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| Lauren Reuss ('22) |
It doesn’t
matter where you’re going, it matters who you have beside you.
I’m dreaming of
a summer night in the past, distant enough for details to escape me, yet still
close enough to be dear. It’s about half
past eleven and I’m still waiting for my strawberry milkshake, tapping my tired,
dancing toes on the checkered tiles, the jams lazily drifting through the diner
beside the hot sizzle of the grille, the click of the register, and the
conversations of strangers and old friends alike. It’s twelve days until I walk across the
stage in my red gown, and my life begins the longer stretch of this great race.
But here and now, as the old woman with
a brown sugar smile passes me the tall Styrofoam cup, and I see my closest
friends in their button-downs and blouses, the world stands still. And now I hear it: the whispering that was
muted by the cries of my ever-packed calendar.
The heavily written words still stand clear in my mind: Chemistry exam
Tuesday, chi squared and hypothesis testing study session Friday, start
reviewing the literature classics YESTERDAY.
Practice from three-thirty to six-thirty for the next five months, and
then again from two to four until May.
Volunteer here, drive there, apply to this, work for that… OH,
and make sure you eat and breathe and sleep enough to function too,
because I guess that’s equally important.
The tug-of-war that is my life is in limbo just long enough for the
hushed, provocative words to pass from the angel’s lips to my soul. “When did you live? Where was the meaning?”
Arguably, the
most crucial part of my high school career was missing. The people were present and the memories in
the making were abundant, but the meaningful relationships were found
like birds in winter. I was too busy to
love people well. Eliminating
obstacles in the moment was important to securing my future, but without
people, the fond hours spent strolling down memory lane are lonely and pass by
like a road trip through the Midwest. So
much of living a full life is taking the journey with constant companions. Once upon a time I would judge my friends
based on whether I could call them in the quiet hours of the morning to drive
to the nearest breakfast joint and share stories about life and all its
difficulties. Sure, I could have called
any number of people and they would have welcomed the adventure. But did I?
No. I was neither the person nor the friend I aspired to be, so how
could I require that of others? They
knew I was only a dial away. I had no
shortage of callers for everything from homework assistance to life advice, yet
I was never the one to answer a call to drop life to just be there. In that fleeting moment, I saw the ghost of
future me wandering listlessly down the path of my past, in place of fond
nostalgia a melancholy solitude. I vowed
to fail no more.
I wake up and
promise myself that from this day forward, I won’t have to question whether my
actions will be worthy; I refuse to neglect myself and won’t hesitate to be
there for others. I cannot wait another
four years to realize the absences in my heart are created by my own
shortsightedness and detrimental tendency to put a planner first and those in
the plans second. Meaningful is not a
destination, but the unplanned trajectory filled with those leaving their
irreversible mark on you. Rather than
asking who wants waffles at one in the morning, I’ve grown to ask first who
would pick up the phone or answer the shuddering knocks on the door. I have stopped prioritizing the papers due to
be forgotten for the people that will be with me forever.
Lauren Reuss, of Mt. Washington, Ky., is a first-year McConnell Scholar at the University of Louisville where she plans to study communications, economics, Spanish and political science.