Spring Break
Professional dreams fail miserably
Emily Hemson
Issue date: 5/14/08 Section: Forum
I received a letter in the mail this weekend.
Oddly enough it was a letter I wrote to myself four years ago.
Senior year in high school, my English teacher with all her hippie antics thought it would be a good idea for her students to write letters to themselves, and promised she would send them after four years had passed.
Four years have elapsed, and as such, the letter arrived in my parent's mailbox. My mom called me to inform me of my new mail.
"Would you like me to read it to you?" she asked.
I hesitated.
It became very strange all of sudden, that this letter existed. A letter that until that moment I hadn't even thought about.
"Alright," I said finally, "go for it."
After about two sentences of cheesy comments reflecting on the momentous occasion of graduating high school, the bombshell hit.
"You're probably singing in a band," my mom read aloud over the telephone.
"Seriously?" I stopped her. "Singing in a band? When was I ever even on track to sing in a band?"
"That is sort of strange," she replied.
Hoping for some validation to this very uncharacteristic profession I had confessed in the letter, I asked my mom to keep reading.
Unfortunately, at the time the letter was written I obviously saw no need to explain this new desire.
I don't even like singing in public. I played piano when I was in fourth grade, but quit soon after the woman teaching me had a nervous breakdown.
While I enjoy music, my abilities regarding it do not extend beyond pressing play on my iPod.
So where did this new future-life plan come from?
I began to think perhaps I had failed myself.
For many seniors, their college life is finally starting to end. While this could act as a source of sadness and make them begin to question whether a five-year graduation plan may have been a more successful thought, the looming reality of what is waiting after June is unavoidable.
Oddly enough it was a letter I wrote to myself four years ago.
Senior year in high school, my English teacher with all her hippie antics thought it would be a good idea for her students to write letters to themselves, and promised she would send them after four years had passed.
Four years have elapsed, and as such, the letter arrived in my parent's mailbox. My mom called me to inform me of my new mail.
"Would you like me to read it to you?" she asked.
I hesitated.
It became very strange all of sudden, that this letter existed. A letter that until that moment I hadn't even thought about.
"Alright," I said finally, "go for it."
After about two sentences of cheesy comments reflecting on the momentous occasion of graduating high school, the bombshell hit.
"You're probably singing in a band," my mom read aloud over the telephone.
"Seriously?" I stopped her. "Singing in a band? When was I ever even on track to sing in a band?"
"That is sort of strange," she replied.
Hoping for some validation to this very uncharacteristic profession I had confessed in the letter, I asked my mom to keep reading.
Unfortunately, at the time the letter was written I obviously saw no need to explain this new desire.
I don't even like singing in public. I played piano when I was in fourth grade, but quit soon after the woman teaching me had a nervous breakdown.
While I enjoy music, my abilities regarding it do not extend beyond pressing play on my iPod.
So where did this new future-life plan come from?
I began to think perhaps I had failed myself.
For many seniors, their college life is finally starting to end. While this could act as a source of sadness and make them begin to question whether a five-year graduation plan may have been a more successful thought, the looming reality of what is waiting after June is unavoidable.
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