After graduating from college, I was presented with an incredible opportunity: spend a semester working in a field I love, trying to do some good with students and a university I love, learning from a boss I know to be brilliant (just don't tell him I said that), and actually getting paid to do it (pretty sure the boss still regrets that part). It was a semester of impressive highs. On occasions numbering closer to 10 than to 1, I couldn't focus on doing my work because I was too distracted thinking about how much I love my work (yes, you can roll your eyes). I often struggled to keep random smiles from creeping across my face - not that I wanted to constantly frown, but the tech dude down the hallway probably got suspicious whenever I'd start grinning on my way back from the bathroom. Having taken up residency on Cloud Nine, it was a hard fall when the gig came to an end. I had expected the sadness of leaving my four-year home and the best people I've met, but I hadn't expected the sadness that would come with moving back home and preparing for a whole new chapter of my life. I cannot express how much I love my home and my family, and it's exactly because of that why they made me so sad. The realization that I'll never again experience my home in the same way I did for the first 18 years of my life hit me hard. Peter Pan ain't got nothing on me when it comes to never wanting to grow up, but coming home for the first summer in three years forced me to accept a bit of that annoyingly persistent adulthood. Realizing that "my home" is becoming "my parents' home" was a surprise that brought on the first real wave of sadness. Car troubles left me bidding adieu to the most tangible piece of countless high school and college memories. Closely following was another wave of sadness launched by fear of moving to a city of 70,000 people, with the total population of people I know resting firmly at 0. Doubt of my career path and a loss of focus on who I am fought to make me fall below the waves. Adding to the messy ocean of negative emotions was a string of tragedies around the world, that brought sadness to a much larger scale. It also paired with guilt, for I recognized that the things that had me down were entirely insignificant when compared to what so many others must face everyday. I was down in the dumps, and I was withdrawing from nearly all my friends. I started to struggle with being authentic, and the smile I couldn't keep off my face just one month earlier became rarer and rarer. While cleaning my room for the first time in four years (holy dust!), I came across a quote card that's always seemed to ring true to who I am: "It is not happy people who are thankful. It is thankful people who are happy." Many people around me have teased about my gushing "thank-you's," but I've always been set on a mission to appreciate every person and every experience life throws my way. I hadn't been doing that since leaving Bradley. Things started to look up as I returned to my habit of making a point to be grateful. They were further aided by reading letters I've received over the years from friends and mentors that reminded me of who I am, who I can be, and what I can do. Revisiting a kickass music playlist long-ago suggested by a friend also served to elevate my spirits (see below for my favorite song, or follow this link to the entire Spotify playlist). And reconnecting with some friends from whom I'd withdrawn helped me realize just how fortunate I am to have these thoughtful, motivated, and genuinely compassionate people as my cheerleaders and inspiration. The changes that come with growing up and the challenges I'll face with moving to Muncie are tough to swallow. I'll face obstacles with staying focused on my purpose and pursuing my passion. There are lows, and there are imperfections. But I know I've got some amazing people around me, a great life behind me, and a solid set of values to guide me through these next steps and to help me embrace even those bad times. For that, I am thankful. And because I am thankful, I am happy once again.
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The lights are off, door closed, and keys turned in. And so, my time at Bradley ends the same way it began - with lots and lots of tears.
This time though, the tears are different. Coming to Bradley as a student, I cried from wishing I could return to high school and the friends I made there. I cried out of fear for taking that first real step of independence. And I cried for all the goodbyes I felt the need to say. Now, leaving Bradley as an alumna and - even better - as a former employee, I cry for letting go of all those parts that - rightfully so - have expiration dates. I'm not saying bye, for I've learned goodbyes are rarely final. But I'm letting go of any naive wishes that I can ever return to this same experience with the same relationships. I'm letting go of official roles I held here, and I'm instead embracing the end of this chapter. This past semester of interning in Student Affairs will forever be among the best parts of my life. But I know I'd be failing everyone who believes in me and has given me so many opportunities if I refused to let go and instead stayed stuck in the past. There are parts of my experience, however, the parts with no expiration dates, that will stay with me. These aren't meant to be let go of, and you can bet I'll be holding on to them. These parts are the ones that include the positive impact made on me by the people I worked with, the students I served, the challenges I faced, and the successes and failures I had. The lessons I've learned about life, work, and relationships will be some of my strongest guiding principles as I move on to grad school. As I leave, it is my hope that, while I was stumbling through the real world as an entirely unqualified individual, I left some positivity in my wake. For my colleagues: I realize there were times where I was that eager - and most likely annoying - intern with wide eyes peering through rose tinted glasses. And while that may have seemed guileless to you, I hope it also served as a reminder of why you chose the career you did and perhaps even reignited that flame of passion that was starting to flicker. For my students: I hope you felt challenged to think bigger and work harder. I hope you felt my confidence in you and that your confidence in yourself only swelled. I hope you will continue to pursue your passions vehemently and that you will always love the imperfections of life. Peace out, Peoria. It's been a blast. |
Kristin KreherMy happiness comes from meaningful interactions, the outdoors, thrift shops, and saying "thank you." Archives
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