Dreams

Why am I here? How did I get here? Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much, they may decide to….. Ok, never mind, that’s not what I mean. I mean, why am I here, sitting at my desk writing this blog for sociology while watching Sex and the City? What are the sociological influences that led to me attending the College of Charleston?
Familiarity is where it all begins. I was born in a hospital room with an open window in Portland, ME. My first breath was a major inhalation of salt air, and that became an integral part of who I am. Perhaps that’s the reason the ocean has held such captivation for me over the years. And that’s the first reason that I even applied to the College of Charleston. I wanted the proximity to the ocean, but more importantly, the marine bio program (that worked out well…).
At my high school, it was a social norm to apply to upwards of 10 schools. My friends at other schools applied to maybe 3. They had a very clear idea of where they were going. If I had applied to three or four or five or even six schools, College of Charleston would not have made the list. I never thought I’d be going to South Carolina. My list was predominantly small private schools in New England and the mid-Atlantic states, and had I not thought about marine biology, I never even would have found C of C. In addition to this, I didn’t apply to the College on time. I forgot about it, left it in the dust. Two weeks after the application deadline, I had a moment of panic. Not one of the schools that I applied to was in a city, which was where I really wanted to end up. Perhaps the city is another major reason I am here. All my life I’ve lived in small towns (my current hometown has a whooping 1400 people), and something about the city, the electricity that seems to run through the people that crowd the sidewalks and buildings pulls me in; it’s almost magnetic. So I called up the admissions office, and asked to be able to send in my application. The answer they gave me is obvious as I sit here typing on Calhoun Street.
My mother influenced me a great deal, although in a very interesting, unusual manner. Call it a complex, but I know that I will never be as good as her. She is the best person I know, beautiful, brilliant, an unbelievable athlete, graduated from an Ivy League school with academic awards and athletic records, beloved by everyone who shares even the briefest of conversations with her, she’s just perfect. For all of my juvenile life, up until maybe 8th grade, I wanted to be just like her. Then I realized that I also share her sense of competition. I need to be the best. And I realized that I would never be as good as my mother in certain aspects of life. I stopped forcing myself to try and enjoy playing basketball, and instead focused my energy on volleyball. I didn’t worry so much about history in high school, and instead pursued Spanish, and I didn’t even try to get in to those Ivy League schools; I went south. I became comfortable being myself, not a miniature clone of my mother. Cliché, but true nonetheless.
The last real factor that led to my appearance in the College of Charleston is horrible and embarrassing, and I beg anyone who reads this not to judge me. It was the movie Sweet Home Alabama. I wanted to be in a land where community was highly valued and kindness was a priority. When I saw that movie, I envisioned myself living that kind of life. I wanted to raise my kids in a Christian community. I wanted them to go to kindergarten and high school with the next door neighbors, and swim in the creek, eat barbeque, play baseball, and attend town picnics. I saw it as the American Dream. Up in New York, there were conflicts. People weren’t all the same religion, and there was a major clique problem at my school, which resulted in kids graduating in a 50 person senior class, and still not knowing everyone’s names. I envisioned the south as some sort of long lost American paradise. I see now that that notion is utterly ridiculous, but it’s easy to be blind when you want something so badly. I wanted the stereotype to be true. I wanted little Suzy and little Johnny and Mrs. Jones and Reverend Smith all to exist and eat apple pie together at the church picnics every Sunday. I wanted to see a gaggle of freckly children running through my lawn after school on their way to a game of pickup ball. I wanted video games and alcohol and drugs not to exist. I thought that would be the case in South Carolina, even at the college level. Clearly I was wrong.
SO what can I do now? Now that I know that the American dream is just that – a dream? It’s a life lesson for sure, but I’ll just have to make the best of everything. Perhaps next time I won’t be so naïve. I won’t listen to the stereotypes, or try to emulate my role models but I will remain here in Charleston, breathing in that ocean air, which seems to be the one thing in my life that will never change.