I just love her. I don't think anything else needs to be said.

Staying Home On NYE??

In years past, the idea of staying home on New Year's Eve was preposterous. It meant you were missing out on the most fabulous happenings including pictures that would be passed around and posted everywhere, and you'd be disdainfully excluded from any and all nostalgic conversation regarding smooches at midnight. It was the worst thing that could happen to you.

Back in the day.

The last time I felt that way I was a junior in high school, had broken up with my boyfriend for the first time (he and I would make a habit of doing that down the road) and my girlfriends were everything to me. I was threatened with social expulsion when my mom grounded me for being 3 minutes late for curfew. Our family was in absolute turmoil at that point; my mom had just caught my dad having an affair and the divorce was in full swing. My two younger sisters were just 13 and 9; they didn't have much of a social life yet. But for me, being around people was my outlet and I thought I might crumble up and die without it.

To this day I remember how completely heartbroken I was at the thought of having to stay home. It was a horrible feeling, like being punched in the gut. My mom just didn't understand. As it turned out I survived, but only because my mom was too exhausted to care whether or not I went out by the time NYE actually rolled around.

Then I went through the stage of wanting to be seen by everyone once I turned 21. I simply had to be at a bar that year- this was during my phase of "Anything Could Happen!". I was enthralled with the feeling that came with the beginning of an evening. I was unattached to any one boy, and going to a new place meant new people and exciting new memories. There were endless possibilities: I could make eye contact with someone from across the room and flirt all night long, someone could ask me to dance and that might lead to my obsession of whatever song we danced to, I might strike up a conversation with someone to whom I wouldn't previously had the courage to utter a single word. I might meet the most interesting person who just happened to be at the same place at the same time and would indulge me with stories of their hometown, previous relationships and plans for the future. I might meet my future husband, or my next ex-boyfriend. Anything could happen.

Then I met Paul, and I didn't care where I was on NYE as long as I was with him. We were infatuated with life and each other and that made things incredibly simple. We've since been together nearly 5 years and tackled quite a bit during that time: My graduation from college, several trips around the country, one trip out of the country (China, but that's for another blog entry!), an engagement, a wedding, buying our first house, bringing home our first puppy, a one year anniversary and new jobs.

It's New Year's Eve afternoon, and I've done all I can to convince Paul that staying home together is the best option for us. Guess I've grown up, huh? We've been invited to several get-togethers and parties for tonight, some of which are a little appealing but out of our way and ultimately inconvenient and dangerous. The options we have on our side of town include a chic bar down the street or a get-together at one of my friends' house. Paul's idea of New Year's Eve does not involve staying home and curling up in front of the fire, but being social. The conversation between us has yet to be had. Who will win? Wife who wants to bring in the new year with our puppy between us snuggled warmly on the couch or Husband who wants to bring in the new year smooching in front of a camera while holding up a champagne glass for a party-wide toast?

The Year Comes To An End

So, it's here again. The beginning of a new year always prompts us to set goals and ultimately better ourselves. I don't know about everyone else, but I rarely spend time reflecting on the goals, or resolutions, if you will, I've set in the past. I always feel good around January when I'm motivated and determined to make some headway on my path to sucess, but it's not uncommon to have completely forgotten about that path by April or May. Like the picture describes, I end up spending more time doing that than working toward my goal of being able to run that 7:15 mile. There's also a half marathon goal in there somewhere, along with about 4 books I have in mind. Working full time with a job on the side doesn't leave me much time to be wonder woman. But there I go making excuses again. Maybe it's time I sit down and analyze why these "goals" always seem to go by the wayside a couple months in. Anyone have any ideas to keep this motivation up throughout the year? The only thing I can come up with to act as a constant reminder is to put pictures on my bathroom mirror. But then I'd have to take them down if I was expecting company... I'd love some outside help on this one.

Football Loving Ladies

To all of us ladies out there who love NFL football: Hell yea!

I have been a Denver Bronco's loving lady for years and years. I give credit to my dad since he's been a fan since the beginning of time. But as I grew up and developed my own likes and dislikes, the Broncos remained one of my stronger likes and I'm now a full-fledged super-fan. I don't know the responsibilities of every single position, and occasionally have to ask my husband about a ruling on the field, but I have pretty exclusive general knowledge on this sport which I didn't grow up playing.

I don't even play it now... but usually those are the circumstances under which I know everything about a sport. I was extremely lucky when I married Paul; another passionate Denver fan. Although our lives haven't exactly lead us to Denver, we've seriously considered it and haven't ruled it out for the future. I'm the only one of the six girls in my closest circle who follow the NFL. Granted three of the others follow college ball since they attended Kansas State University, but it's just not the same. I haven't run across many female NFL lovers in my experience, and I also encounter some skepticism from the dudes when they hear that I not only write about sports, work at The Golf Warehouse, and have a huge not-so-secret crush on Jay Cutler. They look at me with raised eyebrows until they hear what I have to say, and then they might, just maybe, give me a little credit. It's usually not until I mention a pick-six that they accept my knowledge and start using football lingo around me. But that's okay. I typically get along with guys easier than girls, so I've learned how to make them comfortable with that fact.

I love our household: when the game's on nothing else around my house gets done. Instead of me telling my husband that it's okay for him to watch the game with a beer on the couch while I make dinner, we're side by side with our jersey's on, screaming at every first down and debating every call. We don't answer the phone because we want to give this team our undivided attention. Yup, that's my passion! It might seem weird to some that I'm a jersey wearin, cuss-word screamin, ass slappin football fan on Sunday, and on Monday I step into my stilettos and play businesswoman, like the transition is only natural. I wouldn't have it any other way.

On The Road To Wisdom

Even though I've learned a lot from my husband since he has been in the corporate world four years longer than I have, there are still those things you can't really learn until you experience them for yourself.

I worked in a small physical therapy clinic for about three years while I was finishing up j-school, and because there were so few of us in the office, I never had to worry about "rumors" being spread around the water cooler. I also never had to worry about people finding things out about me that I didn't want them to know, because everyone was considerably older than I. We had a Monday thru Friday type relationship, and that was it.

It has always been important to me to keep my personal life separate from my work. If I have a bad morning, I have trained myself to leave the negativity at the door as soon as I arrive at the office. People do not need to know if I'm in a bad mood, or they might immediately assume it will affect the quality of my work. Unless something is drastically wrong and I absolutely cannot contain my emotions about whatever it is, I am the exact same person everyday as far as the people contained in the cubes around me are concerned.

Even if some of them happen to be more in my age range, and they're fun to hang out with, I must not let them see how much fun I can be with a little alcohol in my system. I'm trying to establish myself in this competitive, dense industry, and that'll never happen if I become too close with co-workers.

I've only recently learned that I cannot tell a certain co-worker, whom I've become quite good friends with over the past few months, certain things about my life. Or if I do, I must precede it with, "Please don't tell anyone about this." That I felt the need to say that at all should have been a red flag. Maybe one of these days I'll take my own advice. But because I didn't this time, the news that I was out late last night was all over the office this morning- before I even got there.

It's not like I did anything wrong to be ashamed about, but it's my personal life and I would never tell my co-workers details of my off-the-clock activities, and it wasn't this person's place to tell anyone either. The only thing this person accomplished was gaining the attention of those who sit in the surrounding cubes' because this person knew something they didn't.


Gossip.

No good comes out of it.

Now I'm forced to further sever relationships with the people I work with. Well, not sever, but definitely keep the personal aspect of the relationship at bay. You live, you learn, I guess. I've learned.


I'm just happy I didn't spill something career-ending, or reputation-threatening.

The Angel/Devil

“Welcome open heart. No better time than now. Welcome to our family. We dream in the sticks. We rehearse where the busses don't run. We eat and sleep late in the same little spaces. We search with you. We want to travel with you. Angel and Devil. Getting comfortable with grey. No more us vs. them. The only truths we've found so far are rhythm, melody, energy and kindness. Push us. We're going to push you. Music has always changed the world and it always will. Songs are rips in time - upsets to stagnation - waking dreams. Live shows are sacred times where anything can happen. 50 percent us, 50 percent you. Slow down your mind. Speed up your heart. Step inside with us.” –The Angel/Devil
No Better Time Than Now.There’s no better time than now to embrace life and get all you can out of it. The Angel/Devil is going up, up and up with their careers and I’ve watched them evolve from the band they were born as; I can’t wait to see where life takes them. One of their recent songs called You Spit Fire/I Spit Gasoline is heard on MTV’s Real World Sydney Season Finale. They’re also featured on Dane Cook’s Tourgasm soundtrack. Gooding has transformed into The Angel/Devil, but their character and love of music hasn’t morphed at all. Born in Wichita, they are now roving the country, making their mark on the rock genre. But they’re still the same guys. They still have the same passion. They still rock out on stage.
Welcome To Our Family.Guitar and vocalist Gooding, drummer Jesse Rich and bassist Billy Driver connect behind the scenes just as well as they do on stage. I talked to Jesse about what holds them together when so many groups dissipate in the face of adversity.
“We are united first as friends, and then as a band. We got lucky in that we were close before the band even formed; we have that brotherly thing going on, that established friendship.”
They say it does get tricky when they are forced to spend so much time within the same four walls… or on the same four wheels. They can be on the road anywhere from 30 days to three months at once, and that’s when it’s important to snag some time to yourself every now and then. But when it all comes down to it, they are strong because they share a common goal, have the same beliefs, and ultimately have respect for each other as well as the projects they work on.
“We all want the same things out of life- and that makes it easier to get our message across to our audience,” Jesse says. “We look at each day as a challenge- a challenge to make a situation a little better than it was before. We want to convey that to our fans.”
Angel and Devil. No More Us vs. Them.They used to be Gooding, but they underwent a name change for several reasons. What began as more of a solo project became a group project, and the band members wanted to convey that with a sticker more inclusive than a last name. The name change also represented a bit of a transition, or narrowing, if you will. In the past, they’ve played all types of genres of music, but now they’re hoping to slim it down in order to further clarify their message and eliminate confusion. The inspiration for the new name came from a painting done by a friend. They decided it was perfect not only for their image to the public, but for who they are as people.
“The Angel/Devil is two opposite forces. It represents the fact that you can’t have the bad without the good, the light without the darkness. We want to use the positive of those forces against the things we disagree with in the world. To hopefully help the ‘after’ be better than ‘before’.”
The Angel/Devil is a good thing, and they do good things to prove it. They don’t tolerate hate, or people who don’t try. They know what’s important to each of them, and they take time to support causes such as basic human rights, children, and animal rights.
“This isn’t just music or entertainment,” says the drummer. “It’s a world people can live in every day. It’s about positivity. Helping where we can help.”
Live Shows Are Sacred Times When Anything Can Happen. They intend to push the audience to the limit with not only their music, but with their actual performance. Having seen them live several times in the past, I can attest to how easy it is to get lost in the show because they are so much fun to watch. The last time I saw them was at a place they frequently perform when in Wichita: The Loft in Oldtown. I took special notice of those crowding the dance floor. It sometimes resembled a mosh pit, with fans bouncing up and down, saving their drinks only by holding them in the air. Or perhaps they were toasting the performers!
At one point I saw a lone dancer on the side of the floor, lost in the beat and moving freely in a head-slamming, body-thrashing, totally-in-her-own-world sort of way. She didn’t mind when people shot raised eyebrows in her direction, and she carried on like so for the entire set.
So however The Angel/Devil captures attention, whether it’s through their positive outlook on life, their connection as a group, or their live shows, it’s all part of their collective passion.

Miranda Dawn

I heard about Miranda before I met her, and I had all these preconceptions about what I thought she’d be like. None of the things I’d heard had been remotely negative- so of course I thought she was too good to be true. Maybe she had some big obvious flaw. They said she was a singer/songwriter from Wichita trying to make it in Nashville. I thought she’d be a brave soul. They said she was probably one of the nicest people I’d ever meet. I thought southern hospitality had rubbed off on her. They said she was technology savvy. I thought she was determined to reach and befriend as many people as she could. For once, my presumptions were correct.
Miranda Dawn McKellips bounces into The Alibi Room with long, dark, voluminous locks, a huge smile on her face and her phone in hand. She tosses her bag on the bar and sweetly orders a drink. I am intrigued, and although I know a little bit about her, I’m still not quite sure what to expect once we get to talking. I soon find out that she is a writer’s dream. This girl is spitting out quote after beautiful quote and I have to slow her down at one point b/c I am hanging on every word. I wish I could write faster.

For more on Miranda Dawn’s take on life, visit www.nakedcitymag.com/culture.html.

We were in a very casual setting, and thus casual conversation followed suit. As Jason Fortune and Miranda McKellips smoke all my cigarettes, (Jason gave me his lighter in thanks at the end of the night) I write as fast as I can, taking note that even though she holds a smoke in her hand, she rarely raises it to her lips. That must be how she preserves her intriguing voice! Of course she is engulfed in a provoking thought process in which she speaks aloud her motivation to keep on keepin’ on in Nashville, even though times are tough. She works at a bar by the name of The Broadway Brewhouse and Mojo, and she throws her head back in laughter as she tells us the bar’s motto. “The liver is evil and should be punished!” She has surrounded herself with positive people trying to do the same thing as she is; her co-workers at the bar laugh together when they get a less than acceptable tip. “Living the dream,” they say together, “Living the dream.”
But really, she is living her dream. She has always wanted to sing, and it all started when she performed for herself in front of the mirror in her bedroom when she was little. She sang with a band here in Wichita for a while, and then decided to make her move to the big city. Since then, she’s learned a lot about life and what it takes to accomplish your goals. Her parents have been there every step of the way, never letting her lose sight of those goals. She knows it’s hard work, but she never expected it to be easy. There are times when she doesn’t know where her rent money will come from, much less funds to do anything else. She recognizes that good gigs aren’t going to fall from the sky, and that’s why she performs for free sometimes; to gain recognition. Some people ask her why she puts herself through such rough times, and she responds carefully, “I ask myself, ‘Would I be happy if I weren’t doing this?’ and I know deep down I wouldn’t be.” She doesn’t want to live with regrets that there was something she always wanted to do and was so passionate for, but never tried for fear it would be too difficult. She says there is beautiful desperation in the love of her craft, because even though it calls for hard times, you put yourself through them because you’ve made up your mind and you know you’re where you’re supposed to be. You have such passion for it, and at that point there’s no stopping you. She says you have to sacrifice, but it’s satisfying all at the same time. She admits that this is her greatest love, but points out that it is indeed fickle. Can you see why my hand is cramping? I thought it was supposed to be a quick meet and greet, but we end up chatting for almost two hours. Should have brought the tape recorder.
She never loses her fun streak throughout our entire conversation, and when she and Jason decide to go down the road of Patron shots, I don’t envy the burning sensation they’re about to endure. Shots are definitely not my thing, but Miranda stops mid-sentence, throws hers back, contorts her face, and picks up where she left off. Jason’s puckered face lasts a bit longer than Miranda’s.
“Sometimes you just have to suck it up!” Miranda laughs at Jason’s expression.
Then we get on the topic of what it was like starting out in Nashville. Despite a lot of roadblocks, Miranda specifically remembers those people who were a bit more experienced than herself and were willing to give her a tip here and there because they remember what it was like being in her position.
“Not knowing anything and having all these big dreams can come to an interesting fork in the road, but Nashville is full of people who are willing to help you choose the right path.”
Because of these people she’ll always want to help others who are just starting out.
“It’s a tough thing to go through, and I will make it easier on anyone I can,” she vows.
On the flip side, she notes, there are also plenty of people out there trying to scam you and make a quick buck, so you have to know your surroundings and get a good feel for who is trustworthy.
If she has any more growing up to do, she’s certainly having a good time doing it. Loving the simple things in life and knowing that she’s living her dream daily brings that satisfaction few know well. She agrees that when you’re in the profession you’re truly meant to be in, it feels like you never work a day in your life. And she likes big hand bags, loves her friends and family, and if someone were to give her an odd nickname, she’d want it to be Lloyd. I guess you’ve got to have what it takes to make it, and I think that includes a laid back personality so you can take life as it comes at you. I only sat and talked to Miranda for a couple hours, but in that short time I felt re-motivated, re-invigorated, and confident that I was sitting with a real, live, Wichita born-Nashville talent.

A Little Music

KFDI Listener Appreciation Show at Koch Arena- Wichita, Kansas

I don’t consider myself a country fanatic, but I’ll admit: I do have a couple pre-sets in my car tuned to country stations. Occasionally I break into song…And I know all the words to every Tanya Tucker song… Ahem, sorry. I’m by no means a red neck woman, but I certainly wanted to bust out the cowboy boots after my experience at the 37th Annual KFDI Listener Appreciation Show. Especially after seeing Rodney Atkins from the angle I did.

I played the role of photographer assistant and hence was able to see the concert from an entirely different perspective than I’m used to. I was backstage, directly in front of the stage and hell, I was even on stage at one point. There were no limits to where I could go, so I took advantage. Of course I was assisting photographer Dustin Craig the best I could, but with the performers so close, it was tough not to stop and admire.

The show began with Jimmy Wayne, whose good looks got the girls a-screamin’. He sang his hit, “Stay Gone,” a few others and then gave way to sister trio Carter’s Cord. They smiled sweetly, talked about breaking up with boyfriends and then writing a song about it, and how much they like their boss, who just happens to be Toby Keith. They’ve signed with his record label, Show Dog Nashville and they’re cute, I won’t lie. Their new song, “Young Love” sounds great, too

The meet and greet with Rodney Atkins was the epitome of a close up. In the SASO Room at Koch Arena, he signed autographs and wished a young girl happy birthday to her absolute delight.

Then it was time for Atkins to take the stage, and that he did. Energetic and involved, he interacted with the crowd as if Wichita were the only place in the world he wanted to be. We believed him! He started off with “These Are My People,” continued with “Cleaning This Gun,” “Watching You,” and “If You’re Goin Through Hell.” Of course he included his new single, “Invisibly Shaken.”

The best part, for me at least, was when I was crouching in front of the stage being helpful and available for Dustin. Rodney came to the edge of the platform; literally right on top of me, turned around to face his band, and shook his butt! Those jeans must have been difficult to get into, but I’m not complaining. Neither was any other girl in the Round House that night.

Gym Membership??

I barely remember how to get to my gym anymore. Rather, it’s not that I’ve forgotten how to get there; it’s the fact that I can think of a million other things I'd rather be doing and it's been so long I'm sure they wouldn't even recognize me at the front desk anymore.

Between starting a new full-time job, working freelance for a local magazine, and managing my first year of marriage, I've been quite busy. That's not to say I haven't gotten any exercise; I find time to do crunches in front of the T.V., lunge from one end of the house to the other, or take my puppy for a jog around the neighborhood. I actually prefer these methods of getting my bod back to its “hot” status, for several reasons. I’m on my own schedule, I don’t have to wait in line for a machine and then gag when the grossly overweight person who just used it didn’t wipe their sweat off before giving it up, and best of all- my neighborhood homeowners association doesn’t charge me outrageously high prices to run in circles.
The one thing missing is the motivation from looking around at others at the gym. I ran track in high school, and my strategy revolved around finding someone to keep up with for the duration of the race, and then kicking it in near the end. I’ve carried that mentality into the real world aka, adulthood. On the treadmill, I’ll end up next to an older gentleman who is inevitably running faster than I am. Well, if he can do it, I can do it! I tend to not really push myself without the help of someone else, whether they realize they’re helping or not. It even goes a little further- I see other women in cute outfits, and it motivates me to push a little harder, so that I will look just as cute if not cuter when I finally decide to splurge on one for myself. As I typed that out, I realized it sort of sounds like I have a self-image problem. I don’t, I promise! I just like outside forms of motivation so I always have a goal to reach. I spent eight years of my life playing volleyball for at least two hours per day, and so when I made the decision to put away my ankle braces after two grueling seasons at a junior college, working out was no longer mandatory, rather, it was optional. And I opted not to. When there wasn’t a coach breathing down my neck during every bench press, or harping at the beginning of every mile, I found other things to occupy my time. I decided what I wanted to do with my life, for example. I left the Juco in search of a communication degree.

On my own to finally lead a life with no volleyball curfew, I rarely made time to exercise. Of course, at that point my metabolism was still working overtime so I didn’t exactly watch what I ate, either.

Then I discovered something on my body that changed my life forever. Cellulite. In a spot I’d previously been so proud of. My boo-tay. I actually did a double take the first time I noticed. It was a turning point for me; the first day of the rest of my life! Since then there have been several of those days, each one lead by an individual more determined than ever to get back in shape. I soon realized that unless I worked out for four hours a day that was never going to happen. By that point I was engaged, and my fiancé told me not to worry, that it would take me no time at all to work the unwanted flab off. I used my fiancé as a motivation factor- he fell in love with the “hot” bod, and I was going to keep it like that- for him. And for me. And for society. ‘Cause those damn skinny jeans were a little too tight for public wear.

And so I joined the gym. A large, all-inclusive, contract required, must-do-your-hair-to-work-out gym. And for a long time, my fiancé and I made the trip together, even trying to share our workouts with one another. But then life hit; we got married, bought a house further from the city (and by that I mean on the outskirts of the nearest suburb), and bought a puppy.
That’s where the new jobs come into play, and by and large, we are spending most of our time socializing for our careers’ sake than we are worrying about our health. We eat out quite a bit, and we tend to have a cigarette with our cocktails. Or two. Sometimes more. Bottom line is, we’ve lost our motivation and we’ve found countless excuses not to go to work out.

“Our new workout will start on Monday, so we can do it at the beginning of the week.”
“As soon as things slow down at work, we’ll start going early in the morning- to start our days off right.”
“I really don’t feel like going, and if I don’t feel like going, I won’t actually get anything out of it.”

I could go on and on.

We soon realized that we had grown lazy. We didn’t want to deal with all the “traffic” three miles down the road, fight for a parking spot when we finally arrived, then have to wait in line for some of the more popular machines, then get frustrated because we have to wait in line for some of the more popular machines, deal with traffic “all the way” home, and by the time it’s all said and done, we’ve wasted 45 minutes of our precious time. The world moves too fast for that kind of dilly dally. So our solution is to only use it during the winter when it’s more difficult to run outside due to extreme cold, or ice. And because we’re in Kansas, the wind is always a factor. The dog needs as much exercise as she can get, because she’s a Visla, and she has energy like three lab puppies combined. And so we try to run with her, although that proves to be a difficult task as well, because it seems that her main goal is to see make sure I flatten out on the concrete. She darts in front of me, manages to wrap her leash around my legs, stops suddenly in front of me, decides on a dime that she has to use the restroom, or pulls at her leash with such fervor that I can barely restrain her. That’s for a different day.

I have finally hit a breaking point. I tried my wedding dress on the other day, and when I found that it was a big snug in all the wrong places, I decided I was going to keep my figure as healthy as possible, for as long as possible. So, all this to say that I’m going to entertain my readers with a journal over the next month about my experience of trying to re-motivate myself and get back in shape. I don't care if I have to watch back to back episodes of "Friends", doing crunches during the show and push-ups during commercial. If every time I have to pee I lunge there and back, and I do calf raises while I'm brushing my teeth, then that's just what it takes. I'd like to switch it up a bit- make working out fun. And who knows, maybe my words will offer a bit of help to someone else out there who is having trouble getting back with the program.

A running Nun

By Kristin Wemmer’03

I heard my mom’s voice wafting from the kitchen, telling me breakfast was ready as I nervously put on my high school uniform for the first time. Well, at least my mom thought it was the first time. She didn’t know I’d spent at least an hour the night before trying it on and adjusting it so I’d look exactly like everybody else on my first day of high school. But of course I couldn’t act like I was nervous; that was against the rules of being a teenager. I strutted into the kitchen with my pressed white shirt still un-tucked, because I heard that’s what the cool people did. I felt extra special because for the first time in my life I was wearing make-up to school. Back in grade school we weren’t allowed to wear anything on our faces, and the administration strictly enforced the rule. Not that I knew how to put it on anyway, but my guess was as good as any other freshman girl.
With my blue book bag, which I was positive would not stand out in a crowd, slung over my shoulder I loaded myself into the car at least a half an hour early. There was no way in the world I was going to be late for my first day. I had a lot to do before that first bell rang. I had to scout out each of my classes and make sure I knew where they were, as well as socialize with every single person I knew from St. Francis. I also had to organize my locker and memorize the combination. I knew I would probably meet some new people, too, so I had to make sure to check my hair before class began.
As luck would have it, my younger sisters had to be dropped off first, so I arrived with no spare time for exploring and settling. I frantically kissed my mom goodbye and made a mad dash for the front door. I luckily found my first class with ease, but I hadn’t dropped off my other books at my locker. So there I was: your typical freshman walking with a forward tilt. Speed walking, actually.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I found my seat in first hour, and finally took a look around to see who I knew. There were a few familiar faces, and I was grateful. I was even more grateful when I saw the name of the class written on the board, confirming that I was indeed in the right room. My schedule was folded neatly in my shirt pocket, readily available in case I had any doubts, or needed to look 18 times to see which hall I was headed to.
I vigorously took notes throughout class because that’s what people in high school did. My Trapper Keeper held all my supplies in order, including pens and pencils, highlighters and magic markers. If I remember correctly, that first notebook contains writing in four different colors! I didn’t know what items I’d need for the first couple weeks, so I brought it all the first day. Better safe than sorry, I thought.
The bell rang and the race began once again. There were almost 300 freshmen scrambling through the halls vying for locker space, book bag space, and personal sanity. We all knew one thing: five minutes between classes was absolutely not sufficient for all we had to accomplish. How in the world were we supposed to stop at our locker, chat with 15 of our closest friends, say hi to that cute someone, make a mental note to find out who they are later, and find a room in a building bigger than we’d ever been in before? It was complete mayhem. I, of course, got stuck with a bottom locker and had to wait until the person above me was finished.
I impatiently tapped my foot, ignoring my best friend who chattered nervously beside me. I wedged my way in as my neighbor upstairs leisurely arranged his books on his locker shelf. I had not yet learned how to jam my locker, but on the third try the combination decided to work and I and hurled my books inside. Organizing would have to wait until later. I noticed from the corner of my eye that the hallway was beginning to thin out, and I panicked because I knew that meant the bell was going to ring- soon. My best friend had picked up on the fact I was not tuned in to her dramatic rendition of the “encounter with the cute kind” she had Saturday at the pool and had wandered off to inform someone else.
I get nervous all over again thinking about the next sequence of events. I had a brain freeze, and couldn’t remember where my next class was. I was painfully aware that the number of people in the halls had dwindled to a single digit. I’d never wished for anything as hard as I did at that moment: I wished for time to stop. But when it didn’t I skillfully balanced my book bag on my knee, held my locker open, managed to avoid falling backward into the guy still hovering above me, and reached into my shirt pocket to check my schedule. The “band room”? Where in the world was the band room? How had I missed this detail when reviewing my schedule? I wasn’t even in band!
I looked around for someone to ask, but by this time I was the lone freshmen. I saw my future flash before my eyes: I would walk into class late; everyone would look at me funny because I obviously got lost- I would be the laughingstock of the school and my freshman year would be ruined. Not to mention I knew the boy I liked was in this class, and what would he think of me if I walked in late? I might as well just have walked out the front doors of the school right then and saved myself the embarrassment of life!
I couldn’t believe I was standing in a hall that, just a moment ago, was packed with people and now there was no one to ask for directions.
Then there she was.
A nun. In all her robed glory, rosary in hand.
She had just turned the corner into the 100 hall and was headed right for me. I must have looked in dire need of some sort of help because when she saw me, a very worried expression came over her face. She slowed when she reached me, and I opened my mouth to ask where to go, but nothing came out. She asked if I was lost (I guess I was an open book) and I nodded as I held out my schedule to point at the seemingly jumbled letters. She took one look at the schedule, another look at her watch, and demanded I follow her. I was just positive she was going to lead me straight to the office where I would receive a lifetime of detention, but instead she took off running! She hollered at me to hurry up or I would be late, and so hurry up I did. She led me through the commons, past the gym and down a very small staircase- wardrobe cascading behind her. She stopped a few feet before the door and pointed. She whispered that this is where I was supposed to be, and to have a good day. I whispered thank you, and she smiled. It didn’t occur to me until later that this nun had literally saved what was my idea of my high school reputation. All I’d wanted at the beginning of this day was be unnoticed and just like everyone else. Attracting extra attention was certainly not on my schedule.
I took a deep breath and strolled into the room, relieved to find that everyone else was still up and milling around. As it turns out, the band room had temporarily been turned into a class room for that semester until the real room was ready. How did everyone else know where to go? I never figured it out, and I didn’t dare ask anyone for fear of enlightening my peers of my lack of direction or knowledge of the school. I sauntered up to a group of friends and joined in on their conversation as if nothing had happened. As if I hadn’t just almost quit high school on my very first day. As if I hadn’t required the help of a nun to find the band room, and as if my hands weren’t shaking uncontrollably at the thought of getting in trouble for being late.
I learned from that experience, though, and made arrangements to meet friends in the hallway by our lockers before each of our next classes, and we would figure out where to go together. I had at least three of my closest friends in each of my remaining classes, thank goodness. My day actually got better: I managed to remain unnoticed- except by the boy I liked, who slipped me a note in squeeze hall!
Looking back, I wish I would have done things differently that day. I laugh to myself when I think about how serious I was and how silly a thing it was to get flustered about. I wish I would have gone into the band room and made a big joke out of my mishap. I wish I would have told them about the running nun. Most of all, I wish I would have made a point to find her and thank her personally for essentially saving my life! I never had her for a teacher, nor did I see her again. But I will always be grateful to her for helping me fly under the radar of tardiness. If it wasn’t for her, all my worst fears of high school would have come true. Instead, I feel as if I was handed a “get out of jail FREE” card and nobody ever knew.
Isn’t it funny how we perceive things differently in hindsight? I’ve grown up considerably since my freshman year, but am continually reminded of those early days and learning how the world works. I would later apply this lesson to real life and associate it with success. On this particular day I reached my goal of not being noticed by remaining cool and calm on the outside when my insides were flipping and flopping. I have since learned to keep my external composure when I’m a ball of jitters internally. Although I do wish for another “get out of jail FREE” card every now and then… don’t we all?