Getting Knocked Down
It is easy to look in the mirror and not see any value. Walking out of class yesterday, feeling too miserable because I can’t understand the math behind economics, I kept having memories from my freshman year of college in Kentucky; they kept looping through my head.
What if I could go back to that point and start over, try harder, do more? What is the sum of my time since then? Thirty years ago, I was a wiry kid who felt set apart from the deeply entrenched Appalachian culture of south-central Kentucky. The way the food was made, the relentless evangelical Bible worship, the rigor of studying, trying to manage my identity, being broke, having to make choices that would point this big ship called “The Rest of Your Life.” And what did I know then?
But god, did I try to soak it all in. Who would have guessed that thirty years later, I’d be in the same boat — sweating the details of a 101 class. Ha!
Those days in Kentucky are long gone. The forest fire fighting. Camping on the mountaintop. The colorful “moonbow” over the nearby waterfalls. Working in the woodshop. Swim team. Eastern Religion class … and endlessly debating religion. The old men picking banjo and guitar outside the mailroom.
I remember Ted, my buddy who got his wife back home pregnant during our freshman year. I had no idea what to say, so I gave him my jar of coins…
