The Comic Unleashed

The rocks on the beach have been there for awhile; they have settled there and have become comfortable in one spot throughout time.

I’ll walk down the beach, identify a worthy rock, pick it up, and overhand it out over the lake for no other reason then to expend some cooped up energy.
I’ll watch the rock dance in the air for a bit and plop through the surface, a seismic ring extending outward, a tiny splash fountaining upwards.
I wipe my brow. The sun is out and it is summer.

The vagabonds know where I’m coming from. Surely they’ve got to feel a little like the rock, such as I do. We never asked to be moved, yet we are sent hurdling out over open water, just to drown in a new element- we’ll settle there too and hopefully make it back to the beach one day.

I am sure we see each other much differently now then we did before; regrettably, there’s nothing I can say or do to change any of that. Though, here I am, being cupped into a catapult, and I am not feeling content, nor excited or ready, to look past my genuine sorrow for not having at least another year to spend here.

You probably won’t read this, but I am sorry.

My thoughts will always partly remain on this sandy beach.

By no means is this a definitive definition. It is complete from the bottleneck of my cerebral channels in hopes of shining a light on my own personal dating experience. This is a publication, and declaration, of what I hold to be true, as it is meant to be disagreed with on some levels; however, I feel like a definition of any attempt is worthwhile, to keep myself honest, as well as to provide clarity in a world that desperately suckles for truth, whether mine own or not.

date, (noun), 1. a particular dyadic pre-arranged social event rooted in attraction, where the focus is primarily on getting to know the partner better, as opposed to the event itself (often, this is done by phrasing it as a “date”), in order to determine whether there is compatibility for a future relationship, or to elevate the status of the current relationship, in a progressively physical or emotional way. When there is a lack of certainty on whether it is a date or not, refer to prior relationship history (most occur with limited knowledge about the other person), and clues of normal date cycle behavior; e.g person picking up the tab, commuting to the event together, dropping off the other person at his/her place at the end, overt compliments, and a sense of continued courtship present. When still in doubt- ask.

Again, this fails mightily, probably, to cover the broad scope of what a “date” is as opposed to other hangouts that a person can have. I entreat you all to comment on it and lend your thoughts. What do you think?

In my night class we organized a little WRITE CLUB, and I was really happy I had another opportunity to write. The bout was NEW vs USED, and my topic was USED. Here it is:

I went to the Men’s Warehouse on Clybourn just to check out their merchandise, and when I walked in it felt as though I was planting my first foot down on the beaches of Normandy . Employees were ricocheting off of the walls, as if the floor had lost all inertia, and I was being fired at from all angles by superbly-dressed Nazis.
“Hey there, how can I help ya?”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Can I help you find anything?”
“Hey there, what’s the occasion? Finding everything okay?”
My only tactic was to rely on base training, to keep moving, to keep my head low, and when the bullets slowly fell off, and I broke through their front lines, it never felt like I was ever truly alone. My movements were constantly being tracked, probably by Mark, the man ducking behind the rack of pressed suit coats, or Jeff, the salesman adjusting that same cummerbund on the shelf for the fiftieth fucking time.

So, I began circling the border of the hostile area looking for a new dress shirt, when I ran into an enemy roadblock. “Halt. Do you know your shirt sizes?” “Why, ah, yes, yes I do, I-I’m just perusing.” “Alright then,” the man said, “let me know if you need help finding anything.” Phew. I had evaded confrontation but at the cost of being diverted further into the middle of the store.

I had been pacing for a while before I decided to hold for awhile next to the bow-ties. Not nearly seconds later the enemy came advancing on my stronghold. “
What are you doing here,” I was questioned.
“I’m looking at bow-ties for a formal, the dress I’m supposed to match is light pink.” “Do you have any identification,” the man asked.
“Yes,” I said as I handed him a picture of the dress my date had sent me over the phone.
“Sir, have you seen this dress?” “Uh, no I-,” “Sir, have you seen the dress? Have you seen it? Have you seen the dress?”
“No,” I said, “I haven’t.”
The man captured me and led me over to another area where they had ties. “I think this one’ll work.” “Thanks,” I said, standing there still, afraid to move. The man had again led me further into the middle of the store. I had made up my mind at that point to try and make my escape.

Until I tripped on a landmine. Yes, I took the bait, I couldn’t help it. A nice pair of new jeans that were my size? It was too easy. And as I picked up the pair of jeans, a flare must have been set right off above my head, because a sniper cold caught me, and I heard a flood of voices converging. “MAN DOWN, WE’VE GOT A MAN DOWN. WE NEED BACKUP. THIS MAN NEEDS JEANS. All of a sudden I hear helicopters swooping in and people running around the room like a madhouse, an impending air raid. The men attending to me decided to heal the wound by addressing the whole rest of the body, before putting me into a full body cast. I must have tried on four pairs of jeans, shoes- to make sure the length was right-, and had to call off them ordering a special 29X32 slim cut Lucky’s brand pair of dark blue jeans.

At any given time I had three employees working on my jean debacle, and I’m telling you, I wanted none of it. This is the problem with NEW; USED would never take itself that seriously.

It knows it’s own reputation, such as a place like Detroit, a heap of scrap metal no one cares about. It knows, for better or worse, the circumstances that got itself in the clearance aisle or dingy storefront window.

But, there is a difference between USED and USELESS. I am tired of things being written off automatically like they’re simply just broken or damaged. Anyone, with a creative mind, or a passion, can crystallize it, given the right amount of work.

So, if we’re not talking about Men’s Warehouse, as opposed to a Ragstock or Brown Elephant, USED cars, toys, condoms or other prophylactic? What are we talking about? Books? You can never go wrong with a used book. Well, unless you’re Ginny Weasley, but that’s another story. To receive a book from someone is a vote of confidence. I know you, well enough, to suggest this particular book to you. And if you are lucky enough to get the notes written in the margins, you can actually follow the other reader’s thought process, adding a new layer to the story. Art never gets worse, it only grows more timeless.

And speaking of time, that’s one of the most egregious crimes you can commit, not using your time the way you want to. We are all here because we’ve made an investment of some sort. Energy, money,… time being the most important. Everyone should use their time to their advantage, and I would be remiss if I didn’t use this opportunity to MY advantage. (pulls out Killian’s bottle). Suddenly, Killian’s Irish Red, becomes PROP, and since I have ALWAYS wanted to have a beer in a college class, and this being a PROP, in a few seconds I will consider this opportunity USED.

So, can we all agree, that time is of the very essence, and with merely two weeks left of my undergraduate career, I would say that it it’s pretty applicable, and I will cheers to that (takes swig of beer).

Run away. That’s the only option that seems arguably positive at this point. Dom rolled his phone around in the palm of his hand, and could see the reflection of the lamp beside where he was sitting on the couch, dressed casually, waiting for the phone to glow with a notification of some ubiquitous happening around town.

His weekends had become standard practice. Eat at 7:45; anything overly greasy to line the arteries like a forward defense. Then, shower at 8:30; splash on a little cologne afterwards to spruce it up a little. Check the reflection in the mirror; left side, right side, everything properly groomed? Hopefully wherever he’d end up going would be dark enough so people wouldn’t notice the natural dark eye shadow. Sleep was something Dom did only out of necessity.

The bottle of vodka hadn’t been touched in a few weeks so Dom pulled out the only shot glass he owned and let it thud against the countertop. For a second he appreciated the smooth poor as the glass drowned in alcohol. He heard his phone vibrate on the table where he had been sitting. Run away, he thought, even if it’s only to a hotel in a neighboring city for the night, just go. Dom looked into the filled shot glass and wondered how many bad decisions a shot contained. He threw it back just to test the theory.

Dom works at, rather he works ‘for,’ a cable company helping the elderly understand how to use their remote control. He’s got it down to a science. One power button, two lights on the box, three buttons to remember: Last, Guide, and Enter. The rest is superfluous. The job itself, worthless, but it buys the booze.

When he looked at the phone he was surprised that Felicia still had his number. They had a falling out a few weeks ago when there were too many opinions on what their relationship was. He let the burn of the vodka slowly fade as he licked his lips and studied the contents of the text message. Something about a house party. Could be fun.

The apartment he had been living in for a few months was quiet, but not so much that he wanted to disturb it with sound; instead, Dom just flung open his laptop and began going from Facebook to Facebook, seeing how far out from his circle he could get, where people from high school only look vaguely familiar.

The next text from Felicia had the address. Dom gathered himself and prepared to exit into the cold. He was having second thoughts of going out tonight, of running away. Laying in bed would be nice too, probably.

The house party was North, a dead end was East, his apartment was West, and nothing was South. Compass-wise, there were options, but none too pleasing. What if he just stood in one place? What an anti-social piece of debris. He made it this far. He already had one shot. He followed his schedule to the tee. What’s holding him back? Run away, he thought, just go.

There are millions that fall into “the masses,” and very few who can stand apart or above the rest; that is to say, the people who ‘do’ without ‘doing,’ those that tussle with greatness, only to cast it aside like the bud of a cigarette, and walk forth boldly onto legendary status. If our goal isn’t to reach the same level of success, surely we’re not completely content with mediocrity?

When I have nothing to occupy my mind it starts to worry. “Did I pass my state tests?” “When am I going to get to go home?” “What signals am I giving off?” “Are my gums receding?”

It’s hard avoiding the existential question though of what life is going to be like for me next year. Of course, the location will be familiar. The structural face of Port Huron will unfortunately be the same as it was before; but, the underlying tone or thinking will be different. Most of this can be attributed for being away for four years in a major city like Chicago only to just return. I’m 21 now, and most of the people I know are at, or around, the same age. That alone has a way of changing so much. And for the first time I actually met people the last time I was in town. Who will I meet now? Who will I meet again? I’ve lost contact with so many people I’m interested to see who comes back into my life.

Who will be back there? I can only imagine something like a four year reunion for most of us at some point in the summer. Not intentionally of course. Does everyone have plans for post-grad? Does anyone have plans for post-grad? Sustainable plans, if that? This isn’t a damn Christmas party we’re talking about either- this is a monumental bookend for our young lives. This is the first real showing of where our trajectory’s are leading and I have yet to see past the two years I have with Teach For America.

And then there’s that whole “job” thing too…it’s a very big deal. It’s made me think about where I’ll be living after I get settled a little bit. Hamtramck has been suggested, potentially Royal Oak, Ferndale (maybe)… but since I’ve never had an apartment to myself before, this is intimidating. I do have dreams though of owning a nice desk, with notes thrown about it detailing plots of stories and characters. Above there’ll be a poster of Rocky Balboa with his fists thrust to the sky, a constant reminder that, “It’s not how hard you can get hit, it’s how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.”

I’ve gotta get this out before I can even start on homework; truth is, I’ve been trying to get something up on here for awhile, but there’s been so much on my mind, it’s been hard putting things in their proper place, and manage to keep the floodgates closed.

So, what I got is a random list of bullet point thoughts. That way I won’t have to delve into too much detail, I can just throw things out there that I’ve been thinking about; therefore, if I seem abstract, try and go with it…

Here goes…

• I feel guilty for being happy. These past few weekends have been incredibly amazing and it’s all due to random twists of fate. Such as: Big/Little Reveal, DEMONthon, “that one Saturday night,” Cubs Game, WRITE CLUB Chicago, Pig Dinner, Recess, Baby Wants Candy, Lil Sibs Carnival, Million Dollar Quartet, Jersey Boys, Chinatown, Pledge Initiation, and more…it just seems like there’s a few things that could make this situation so much better.
• I can see the end of the tunnel for me here at DePaul. It’s definitely bitter sweet. I don’t go too far without it being brought up in casual conversation. “But I still have five weeks,” I tell them. Doesn’t matter. It’s still coming like a freight train. I’m nervous, truly nervous.
• I changed my outgoing voicemail before all of it went down…I don’t know. There’s something about making a conscious decision that is seemingly insignificant, but can turn into something alarmingly significant, when observed in context. 
• Can a high five be condescending?
• Sometimes I think more about the words than the messages I’m sending.
• RHC was my life. I remember sitting with someone and telling them that if they ever wanted to repair their reputation, all they needed to do was to keep doing their job to the best of their ability; boy, was I a hypocrite. I feel terrible for turning a blind eye towards the organization. I’m thankful that I had the opportunity to start to repair my reputation in the community and the one I hold for myself this past weekend. My hope is that it continues.
• I keep thinking, “What’s best?” “What’s best?” The last thing I want is to make anyone mad, so I’m doing what I can to stay above ground, by thinking about how others may feel before how I feel about things.
• My Chicago Bucket List is starting to get checks all over it. My main concern is just not seeing everyone before I ship off. This means the world to me to have this accomplished.
• Post-It’s will start to become my new best friend in the next few weeks, people will know why soon enough
• I’m in a constant struggle between battling how I perceive myself and how others perceive me. My wish is that the two would coincide- but is that ever the case?
• There’s too many elephants in this room
• What I need now is…
• What I need now is….

Here’s my WRITE CLUB piece from 4/20/2012. It was victorious against DO.

THINK (IN 4 ARTICLES)

Article 1.
THINK, THINK, THINK, THINK, THINK, THINK, THINK, THINK. When you have eliminated the impossible, all that remains, however improbable, must be the truth. It’s elementary, my dear audience. THINK…THINK.. THINK.. We all, in a way, want to be our own personal detectives; uncovering larger truths and peeling back the layer of bullshit that inevitably fills the gap in-between people. We are a curious species, why do you think Facebook invented Timeline? To THINK is to imagine the back-stories for the people you sit. and watch. walk by you. on their way to work (or wherever they’re actually going). Suddenly you begin to notice the girl with the hickey tucked in the rook of her neck, the guy who has the miniscule limp on his right leg, the kid with the- JESUS CHRIST is that a cyclops? Thinking itself doesn’t do any harm; it is not illegal to think of robbing a bank, to set your annoying neighbors on fire, or drive ninety through a school-zone (and by school-zone I mean playground). Sure, I may have thought about punching my grandmother in the face once before, not because I was mad or wanted revenge, but I just wanted to see what it would look like in my head. Does that make me a bad person? No, I didn’t do anything. And that’s the big difference, you can be a mover and shaker all you want, but you can also be a deranged psychopath for the things that you do. And every guy in here knows we think of some pretty awful shit.

Article 2: My competitor is going to win this bout. That’s what he thinks.

Article 3.
I find that I do my best thinking in the shower, early before my mind gets a chance to wake itself up and begin processing the workload or-or the pressing issues of the day. In preparation for this piece, I showered daily and chronicled my thoughts throughout the entire week, but here’s one example:

Article 3, Section 1: I wonder what I’d do if I won the lottery? I’m talkin’ big stakes, like over 100 million. What would I do? Is it bad to think that I’d donate 40 million dollars to DePaul, just so I could beat out that pompous asshole who gave 35? They’ll have to rename the college of Liberal Arts and Sciences after me,… to the college of Liberal Eric Ruelle and Sciences; even though, I’ve never published a single bit of creative work in my life- Oh the hypocrisy!… Is 2 million enough to sustain my parents for the rest of their lives? Why did I just think that? What compels me to think of such awful things?

Article 4.

Recently my girlfriend and I broke up, and it’s all very sad- or very good, depending on where you sit on the situation- but, either way, in the superseding hours I couldn’t help but THINK about everything; my world, literally cast into a cyclone of uncertainty, from which I could not escape for the life of me. What would my friends think? How am I supposed to wake-up and not be tempted to text her ‘good morning?’ Let alone avoid the reaction to text her seconds after the call ended to write ‘I miss you.’ Am I crazy?

Five minutes after we hung up the phone I laid face down, dry-heaving into my pillows telling myself, Don’t cry, Eric. Don’t cry. You better not. And the tears didn’t come. But then I wanted them, I wanted the physical confirmation that I had actually felt something. I just wanted to be lost [for a moment], in complete and total sadness. Her words danced playfully around in my head as they jostled for position amidst the repetitive question of Why? Why? Why? I had given her every opportunity to reaffirm that she still had feelings for me, I desperately wanted to hear it even though I knew we couldn’t remain together. But, like the tears, it never came. And I was angry, at myself mostly, that I had told her that all I wanted was for her to be happy. So I put it all on myself, like only I know how to do. Sometimes you have to sacrifice happiness in order to have happiness, and I’m not sure what her grieving process looked like but I wrote my thoughts down here so I could stop thinking about it. I guess it’s my way of dealing with it, as painfully honest as it might be. And I know, in the end, it’s for the best, but when she finds someone else, like I know she will, I still can’t help but think- just please, please, let him look like Steve Buschemi. 

FINE. I admit it. I have a completely serious and un-funny addiction to Pepsi. I know this. I knew about it previously, but tonight proves it.

I stood in Bacci’s Pizzeria on Addison at about 4pm, just after a group of us left the Cubs game. I was starving since I hadn’t eaten at the game and had been putting it off so I could carry-out a large slice of pepperoni. While I was standing there ordering I consciously made the decision not to get a Pepsi A) Because there wasn’t any in the fridge behind the cashier it looked like, and B) Because I didn’t want to carry it home along with the large slice of pizza (for which I had enough trouble already).

Cut to me sitting in my apartment devouring the slice; honestly, that’s the fastest I’ve ever eaten a slice of pizza in my life, and this is including a regularly sized pizza. And as I was woofing everything down I couldn’t help but think how great having a Pepsi would be at that particular instance. I ALWAYS have Pepsi with pizza, especially Bacci’s. My taste buds were terribly upset with me leading them on like that.

When I wanted to eat again before my 8-midnight shift at a desk, per usual, I bought my friend and savored its sugary goodness. I drank HALF of the cup before I even sat down at my table I was jonezing that bad. And then when I finished my meal and went to go get a refill, the machine was out of ice. Oh the humanity! I need ICE with my Pepsi, I can’t just have the drink, it is supported by the ice that goes along with it. The ice makes the experience that much better because I chew it and the last time I went up to the counter, and asked them to refill my cup because the machine was out of ice, they said they weren’t allowed to because refills weren’t covered in the price, so I just assumed they wouldn’t do it again and glumly recycled my cup and went to work.

I sat at the desk craving a Pepsi. I was trying to rationalize it by telling myself that I was just thirsty for ANYTHING and that as soon as I would get home I’d have water instead because I don’t stock anything in my apartment. I tried talking myself out of it, but the fact that the Student Center was open until 12:30am was too much for me handle. I power-walked over there and ordered another hit. I pounded it back, and as I write this, the empty cup lies just to the right of my laptop.

I have a problem.

Let it be known that I do not know anyone that has ever gone through the twelve step program, but I can tell you that the first step is ridiculous. For one: most people know that their drug of choice probably isn’t good for them; but, like me, they rationalize their addiction and crave it. It’s awful when you can single out a day because that was the day that you couldn’t have whatever ails you (last Monday I didn’t have a single drop of Pepsi,…it was awful).

Further, the first step is considered a joke nowadays. “At least I recognize that I have a problem.” Of course you do! But does anyone know the second step? The second step is to “believe that a Power greater than ourselves can restore us.” Are you kidding me? I have limited faith to begin with, and I’m too self-conscious to let Jesus take the wheel.

The first step is always the easiest to accomplish. Why? There should be no sense of accomplishment for doing the most basic thing in a process. I need to really earn my first step…and that’s perhaps why people make jokes about it all the time now- it’s just too easy. So once they accomplish the first step, it’s like, why go any further, I’ve already progressed!

What’s the point of even having a step process? Why does there have to be a step one? It’s not like we’re making cookies (though I believe there are a lot of things you can do to expedite the steps needed in that process too). Wouldn’t it be better if everything came at once? That’s what addicts want to hear. They want to believe that giving something like Pepsi up is easy, so when they begin to fail, they’re like, “Wait, I thought this was easy, why am I being so weak? I’m going to stop acting like this controls my life, because I’m in control now.”

Am I right?

Probably not,…because it’s 1 in the morning and I’m hyped up on P.

“Years ago my mother used to say to me,… ‘In this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart or oh so pleasant.’ Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant.”
-Elwood P Dowd (Harvey, 1950).

It is a challenge to wake up and fall asleep happy; in fact, I often resent my loud and obnoxious alarm clock, because it feels as though I’m hooked up to a defibrillator every single morning- the shock of it is just enough to wake me from a complete state of cardiac rest and get me as far as the shower to finish off the job. Then, finally, after a long and arduous day, to lay down under the daily demands that life seems to impress, it is difficult to quiet my wandering mind, my body still as stone at the bottom of a fish tank. In some ways it feels like I’m still afraid of the dark because I know that it’s the only time I’m completely alone with my thoughts.

You don’t know me (this is a defense mechanism to create distance between the reader and the author, but it is unintended, I just felt like it was the right thing to say at that particular moment).

Truth is, you probably know me well enough to know that I am not a morose person, but that I do, not at a severe rate of irregularly, succumb to shades of moods. I understand the importance of happiness, but I contest that it is a luxury. Plato, Aristotle, Freud, and many others debated the ways to be, and the very existence of, happiness; yet, my friends have divulged methods to live a happier life:

1- Smile every day, no matter how hard it is
2- Recognize 3 good things that happened (there always are)
3- Take time for yourself. Happiness comes with having a clean mind, body, and soul.

So, I take the advice I am given. I smile when my day doesn’t quite go the way I wanted it to; humor is in everything, and it walks the thin-as-floss line right along tragedy.
Three good things that happened to me today were that I wrote a few pieces I’m very proud of, I got to re-connect with a friend I haven’t spoke to in awhile, and I managed to go 4 for 5 at bat in MLB The Show, Create a Player Mode. All of those were incredible things.
Finally, I’ve tried quitting drinking before, but I can’t help but order Pepsi habitually. I feel fine though, as writing has provided some sort of mental catharsis, and I can always go to my cardio for a good workout for my body. These things though provide a cheat towards happiness.

If I were to identify the traits of happiness that I want to embody, I would look something like Jimmy Stewart’s character from the movie “Harvey,” whose name is Elwood P Dowd (“Here, let me give you one of my cards.”). In my Theater class we just finished watching “Harvey,” and I’d never seen it before, though I soaked up every bit I could from Elwood. The thing that I learned most was that life can pull you in different directions, and you can certainly let it effect you, but the important thing is to remain pleasant throughout.

Pleasant (adjective): 1. Giving a sense of happy satisfaction or enjoyment. 2. (of a person, or their manner) Friendly and considerate; likeable.

In a manner of pay-it-forward, pleasant is defined as being more aware of how other people feel than yourself. Therefore, don’t create waves where there aren’t any, just recognize the people around you, and try to remain positive. This, my friends, is what separates the three things I mentioned above, because it actually does more good for everyone else around you, rather than just yourself. 

In Residential Education, we talked a lot about “choosing your attitude,” and for me, I’ll choose pleasant over anything else at this point.

Thanks Elwood, you’re my dawg.

Hey! I had to write a 650-word essay on my involvement on campus and how it’s contributed to my growth as a socially responsible leader. If you wouldn’t mind reading it and letting me know what you think, it’ll help me edit it, and send it in as a solid final draft. Personally, I really like it, but as always, I hope you enjoy it!

 -Energy can not be created or destroyed-

As I stared out the window of my family’s red Envoy, pinned against the door by my microfridge and an assortment of suitcases packed to the ceiling, fit to bursting of course, I watched the violet night turn to an amber morning with the fog crawling along. We were passing signs on the highway that read, “Flint,” “Kalamazoo,” “Michigan City;” until, out of the corner of my eyes, I saw a sign proclaiming, “Chicago- 60 miles,” before it raced off into the opposite direction. So much anticipation, nervous energy, and fear had been gathering.

-Hence, this energy does not disappear-

I was eager to make friends with the people in my residence hall. Over the course of the next few days we bonded mainly over proximity. The girls across from my room were nice, the guy at the end of the hall was welcoming, and the people right next door were absolutely insane (but in a good way). We shared our majors, what classes we were taking, and why we chose DePaul, and while most of them and I didn’t exactly stay in touch, I’ll never forget being asked to go with one of the girls from across the hall to New Student Service Day.

-What happens is that it stores as potential energy-

It was at New Student Service Day that I first discovered that DePaul is pretty different. Students, faculty, and staff speak a different dialect than I had ever heard before. Suddenly, “diversity,” took on new meaning, and they were putting words together like “socially,” “responsible,” and “leader.” What happened to community service you did because you had to? Or, the items you’d buy at a bake sale just because you were craving a cupcake, regardless of the charity it was benefiting? I will admit: all of these were new concepts to me, but not to DePaul. Even still, I didn’t know how I fit in.

-Then converting to kinetic energy, whereupon a force puts an object into motion-

The poster at the bottom of the staircase read, “Wanna Be An RA?” “Well, yes,” I thought, “actually, that’s my goal.” The logo on the bottom-left corner was for an organization called Residence Hall Council. In the same night, I sat down with an application, typed up a platform, and got the signatures needed in order to qualify for the ballot. But I didn’t know anyone. I had to do what anyone would have to do, and started going around asking people for votes, even printed off a few posters, a handout with Michael Phelps’ picture on it (there is a resemblance), and just put myself out there. It was a new feeling, a rush, and I had no idea the impact it would have later.

-Kinetic energy of an object is the energy it possesses due to its motion-

After four years, I feel as though I turned into a sort of socially responsible sage, tasked with imparting wisdom for those who seek counsel; therefore, my conclusion for whoever reads this is thus: What happens when you become involved is that you become open to even more experiences and opportunities. Your kinetic energy increases exponentially. I am not the kid I stepped into college being, due to the fact that I took a risk once, and tried something that pushed me in the direction of the type of person I always wanted to become. And, while I’m still not quite there yet, I look to my time here at DePaul, and the things I’ve been involved in, as markers for my own personal growth, each opportunity building on the last. My work has empowered me to widen my gaze to see the impact I have on my community, and I’ll never stop doing what I feel is right, nor should you.