Alex's Blog

For the past two weeks, I've been listening to Elliot Smith, smoking too much, sleeping too little, and wearing myself thin.

I'm sitting at my desk right now, buried in ink and dusty hardbacks, next to a half-empty bottle of Mountain Dew and a box of Cheez-Its. I turned in twenty pages of research this morning and took a physics test at eight. Went to bed at two, woke up at five to study, but for now, I am done. What's more, that was the last push. I'm three exams and a portfolio away from falling asleep on a flight home.

This year has flown by, and I know people always say that, but it has. I've met so many people and started so many relationships that it will be strange to go home and not have any of them around me anymore. I've learned more in the past two semesters than in my four years of high school. I've written well over two-hundred pages for different classes/blogs/job applications and read...well, a lot. I've spent countless hours either on the phone or on Facebook with my friends from high school. And the time that I've spent purposefully not doing any of those things accounts for most of my college career thus far.

To those of you who are still deciding whether or not to come to UT:
No matter where you go, it will turn out in a way that you can't predict and don't expect. This is not to say that it's not a life-changing decision and you shouldn't bother about it. It's only to say that college won't change your life the way you thought it would, so if you are looking for the one place that will make you happy and give you everything you ever wanted, it doesn't exist. You have to get that from somewhere else. Choose a college based upon the one you think will give you the most opportunity to change.

To those of you who are coming to UT next year:
I'll see you then. I hope that, after a year, this university means as much to you as it does to me. I hope you meet people here who will change the course of your life forever. I hope you find who you are here, and, what's more important, find something or someone to which you can give your life. In short, I hope that you find contentment. Let me know if I can help.

To everyone else (Mom, Dad, brothers, friends, employers, and those UT students who are bored out of their minds and surfing the site):
Thank you for giving me a constant audience and a purpose in writing. I'll see you next year, unless you are my family, in which case I will see you in a week.

Yes, I did steal this title from Joyce Carol Oates. This is my answer to Ashley's questions from "The List" post. I started typing and realized that it would be a little to long as a comment, and that other people might want to hear it, too.

Ashley,

Thanks for your questions, because they are good ones, and I'm sorry it took me so long to get back to you.

Personally, I have barely even heard of Ignite. That might have something to do with the fact that the start of my college career was a bit crazy. I went to orientation after attending an entire term of summer classes. Honestly, no one I have ever talked to has either loved orientation to death or said anything about Ignite. Orientation is free. I would say do orientation, and get it over with in two days. It's not that orientation is unnecessary or poorly organized, but it's really awkward and lonely, and all I wanted to do the whole time was start school and figure things out on my own. It's pretty propaganda-heavy, and I just don't understand, because those students are already attending.

As for the teachers, I think UT is like anywhere else. They all put ads in their catalogs talking about how personal their faculty is, and how much help you will get, and how they invite you over to their house to eat almost every weekend. This is false. I think the alumni feed prospective students the opposite story, because they either want to think that they went through hell to earn their degree, or they buy into the other college catalogs and think that every other college is the University of Pleasantville. This, too, is false. The truth is, college professors are a lot like high school teachers, only sometimes with bigger classes.

I have had professors who don't care, and laugh off any questions anyone has, unwilling to give any serious help. I have had professors who have some serious rage issues and are downright vindictive. There are always those professors who just don't understand how much work they are giving or how much we are having to do to simply keep up. Those professors are usually fun in class, but you hate them after you get out.

On the other hand, I have had professors who show genuine concern for people who are doing poorly in their classes, asking them questions, giving any type of help they can. My psychology professor last semester gave me advice about what type of record player I should buy for my girlfriend's Christmas present. My American Literature professor canceled a week's worth of classes before the midterm and final papers were due so that he could spend however long we needed to go over our drafts and talk about the themes and characters of the novels we were writing about. He even went over my first couple of blog entries with me and gave me advice on where to go next. I've had professors recommend books for me to read, talk to me about my home life, talk to me about God, about my writing, about my plans for the future. I have had plenty of professors and TAs that felt more like extremely intelligent friends than they did professors, because they were so personable and helpful.

Some of these personable professors were the ones in my big lecture classes. Some of the worst classes I've been in only had ten people. Don't worry about blending into the crowd. If you don't want to, then you won't. Just don't be afraid to speak up.

Does any of this help?

So, in answer to your question, either the faculty has changed its tune in the past fifty years, or you are getting some bad advice. I know this is what you expect me to say, but keep in mind that my friends read this, too, and I would be laughed out of the dorm if I wrote anything that wasn't true. If any current student reads this and has had a different experience, feel free to let all of us know.

The week before spring break, UT's campus surges, almost comes alive, with the unspoken yet palpable excitement of scattering in every direction. It's the same way you feel after three hours of cigarettes and coffee: nothing matters so much as the people you love, conversation, and the freedom to move around.

Most of my friends went home to see everyone they have missed, to spend some time pretending that they won't have to start school again in a few days. Their drive is long and tantalizing, as when they were younger waiting for Six Flags or Disney Land, now they can't wait to get home. They will count the mile markers on the side of the road. "Only 46 miles to go; maybe I can go a little faster." Maybe parents or siblings are waiting for them at the end of the drive, close friends, a coffee shop, a street, a church. These things define home. It has very little to do with a building or a bed.

The smell of cheap cigars, for many reasons, always gives me the sense that whatever I was waiting for is here. My dad always smokes the same Backwoods. That's my smell, and I am incomplete without it. I suppose driving home feels like becoming more clearly myself, if that makes any sense. I am funnier/smarter/more with my brothers and with my parents. Home is exciting for this reason.
I've been excited for a month about the break. Last week was unbearable. I'd had too many cigarettes, too much coffee, and my hands were beginning to shake. I needed to get out. I almost skipped my classes on Thursday, but I figured one of my professors (huge lecture, hundreds of people missing on Thursday) would give a quiz, which she did. I tried to go to all of my classes that day and failed at this goal. I only got half-way through the last one before bailing and walking out mid-lecture, and I never skip class. The sun was just too bright to ignore. If they want people to go to class an hour before spring break, then they should put fewer windows in the classrooms.

My girlfriend, wonderful as she is, picked me up ten minutes later and took me to Nashville. I have some family there, so we stayed overnight. I flew out early the next morning to New Orleans and spent a few days with my parents, an honorary uncle, my brothers, and their girlfriends before leaving for a conoeing trip with my dad. The trip was amazing in both the conversation and the quiet, but six days and a sunburn later, I'm ready to get back to school.

The trip back to school is exciting in a different way. When you leave home for school, a part of you stays behind with your family, friends, and the city itself. It's hard to describe having your heart in two different places, but it's both splitting and fulfilling. In many ways, it's like falling in love. You don't forget your family, but your energy, your thought, and your time all go towards someone new. You begin to start your own life, become independent. You don't forget your family and past, though. It's still a part of you. It's what has made you who you are.

I know you aren't supposed to analyze things this much while you're on spring break, but I went conoeing for three days. All you do is sit there and paddle for hours at a time.

I feel like the world moves faster than I can perceive it, and even as a freshman in college, I am getting too old to keep up with it. Toni Morrison, in Beloved, says that a man can get "bone tired." He can feel a kind of fatigue that seeps deeper than muscle, into the marrow, and on, into the soul. Can't you feel it? Every morning it gets harder to step down from my bed, as I lay there thinking about all of the work I have in front of me, all of the people I want to spend time with, the books I would read if I had time, the movies I want to see, classes I want to take, trips, summer jobs, careers, relationships. It weighs so heavily some days that it's hard to sit up. Everything goes so quickly, and every once in a while, I just need to slow down. I need to be still, to let myself sink, fall to the bottom. To say, "Let the world rage around me, I am going to be here for a moment." Sometimes it's not until you let yourself be taken under that you can actually take a full breath.

I spent this past weekend at Fall Creek Falls state park at the RUF winter retreat, and if nature is good for anything, it's breathing. Fall Creek Falls is one of the most beautiful places on earth. I swear to you, the pictures do not do it justice. Half of the beauty is in the feel. Imagine finally crowning a peak in the trail, and hearing, for the first time, the sound of rushing water. Or, imagine picking your way down a dangerous slope for an hour, and legs shaking, exhausted, you step out onto a river bank, forests and falls in every direction. I had been there before this weekend, with my scout troop a few times, and then with two friends over the spring break of my senior year in high school. Every time I go, I see something new. Every time, there is something more for me to learn, and some deeper aspect of God etched into the stone or growing in the trees.

This weekend reminded me constantly about one of the better aspects of starting a college career. It's not anything physical, but it's not an experience either. It's more of a change in perception, and your perception, your construal, changes the actuality of everything around you. I have no clue when I started to change, and I almost missed it in my hurry. I didn't take the time to notice my mind shifting.

I'm not the only one who has changed since high school. Some people become better students. Some stop working, others work too hard at too many things. Some dodge from vice to vice to avoid noticing a change. Some, like me, admit to confusion and little else. All of these reactions have the same driving force behind them: in the latter part of high school, and in college as well, people begin to see things, not only with their eyes, but with their souls and minds as well, and on this newfound level, very few things make sense. Very few things fulfill.
As I sat there, on the edge of the Cumberland Plateau, I didn't see a waterfall, some woods, and whatever else was physically there. I heard a song in the fall, and whispers in the water. I don't know if what I heard made any sense, but it felt clearly profound. I felt the water make sense, and it related to me things that no one else knows and that I cannot explain. You have to go. You have to hear it for yourself.

This weekend was oddly spiritual for me. I was too tired out by the hike and several smoke-thickened conversations the night before to make any sense of the sermon that night. I even closed my eyes for a moment, and felt his words wash over me. I leaned back, and breathed them in.

Katie Burriss, once again, has been so gracious to supply the first photo in the post. Many thanks.

On a personal note, firstly to all of my friends at Union, and to everyone effected: you are in my prayers, and I will see you soon.

I know that many of you who read this will be deciding where you go to school pretty soon, and I want to help you as much as I can. I know how it feels to have every adult you've ever talked to ask you where you are going, how you are going to pay for it, and what you want to do afterwards. There was this one guy from my church that asked me for an update, literally, every week. And the guidance counselors at the school. Teachers. I always hated "the list," with everyone's name on it, and a big fat blank space next to mine right between "Alaster Bennet--Boston" and "Caleb See--Ivy League, thank you." Shoot me. I wanted to pull a Winona Ryder, take a drag on my cigarette, look my counselor dead in the face, and say, "I'm not going to college." I never did it, though. Who knows why not.

I did the whole "educated decision" thing, where I looked up the statistics of all the schools I wanted to go to. For a while, my junior year, I even answered ALL of my college mail. Every last letter, asking for more information. That's a bad idea. Trust me. Just say no. I know this advice is overdone, but it really worked for me: get a college catalog (a reputable one like The Princeton Review or something), read it, choose a few that you like, ask them for more information, narrow it down to something like five or fewer, apply to the school, apply for every scholarship in the world ever, and decide. You don't want more information that you can handle.I'm sitting here in Hodge's Library typing this up, and a tour group is walking by. What are they thinking? Where are they coming from? And, why are they here? They are the smart ones, though. Go on tours, because they make you fall in love with the idea of college. There are so many people your age, so close, doing so many things all of the time. You get to sign up for classes that you want to take. You get to distinguish yourself, or blend in. It really is a breathtaking experience when you first walk onto "your school's" campus. Don't just dream about a place. Go check it out.

I know, I know. I'm making everything sound like everyone makes it sound. Easy, right? That's all you have to do. But it's so hard, and everyone knows it. They just don't tell you because they don't want you to freak out about it. Just decide, right? I mean, who cares, anyway? It will just irreversibly change the course of your life forever. It's a hard thing to do, this "decide" word that everyone throws at you. "Have you made a decision?" "Did you decide to apply for aid?" "Why haven't you decided yet?" Yet you have to, or else the opportunity passes and you are a struggling screenplay writer living in Jersey and smoking three packs a day next to the vent in the community bathroom. Or something like that. I try not to project or be specific.

I guess the real question is, how do you decide? Honestly, I have no clue. I tried my hardest to go to Saint Louis, but just couldn't pay for it, even with a pretty substantial scholarship. Money is a true factor, I think, but not all of it. To be straightforward about it, I think God put me here because it is what's best for me. Beyond faith, I really have no advice on how to choose. I'm sorry if that seems silly or unsatisfactory, but I still don't know any other way.

I want to end this post with a desperate plea: help me help you out. Post some comments with questions about ANYTHING you want to know, and I will answer them as quickly and as well as I can. Don't be afraid to ask anything, and, as always, I am going to try to be as real as I possibly can be. I can't wait to hear from you.

First and foremost, happy birthday, Mom. I love you and hope today is exactly what you want.

My first trip to UT as a prospective student was one of the most ridiculous experiences of my life, and I don't think I will ever forget it.

A few months beforehand I had received a letter in the mail asking me to come up to campus for some scholarship orientation and an interview for further support. I was devastated. I didn't want to attend UT in the fall, and I certainly did not want to cancel plans I had already made to attend a scholarship orientation at my safety school. At my parent's urging, however, I packed my bags, warned my teachers, canceled on my friends, and slouched down to the car, far from excited about the six-hour drive.

About five hours into the drive, my dad realized that we had neglected to factor in the time change between Memphis to Knoxville. He began to speed as I changed and shaved in the back seat of our minivan. We pulled up, an hour late, right as the buses were pulling out from our hotel towards campus. I ran one down and got on in front of everyone, waved awkwardly, and grabbed one of the standing poles, all of the seats taken. I quickly noticed that I was the only individual (apart from the uniformed driver), male or female, not wearing a suit. Sudden flashbacks to Office Space, "Did you get the memo?"

No one wanted to be associated with the kid who had already missed his chance at the scholarship within the first five minutes, and after trying to begin a few conversations, I decided to listen. The three guys sitting beneath my outstretched arm were from the same school, apparently, and were talking about a math test they had taken earlier that day. "I mean, derivatives and McLaurin series? Please! I can't believe anyone actually said that was hard! I almost fell asleep." Two girls sitting across from them, hair flawlessly pulled back into buns, mouths sunken into perpetual frowns, discussed their strategies for winning a scholarship and glared at the other passengers (particularly the late kid in khakis) hoping perhaps to melt them into irrelevancy with a single glance.

Standing in the middle of that bus, surrounded by these people--the best of the university--I suddenly realized that everyone on the bus was completely two-dimensional. They were stereotypes. If I had to read a book about the derivative trio, I think I might kill myself. I have nothing against math. My brother is a math genius, and for him, it is an art. He pours himself into it because he has a passion for it, and then he goes to dinner with his girlfriend, a movie maybe, probably some literature. He likes Lewis and Dostoevsky. He plays the piano, and sings.

My point is that a body needs more than school. I don't know why I choose today to talk about this, but I remember last year around this time being wrapped up in my grades and colleges and everything but the things that make me a complete person. I know that you have to be good at school to get a good job and be happy later, but if you get there and don't know how to dance or write, then where are you? What kind of life have you made for yourself? Last year on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, I went through a mound of college information before doing a few hours of homework.

Please, learn from me. Get out. Do something else for a while. Go see Juno, and buy the soundtrack, because it is amazing. I'm listening to it right now. Write a story. See a play, read a good book. Have a conversation. Years from now, or maybe only days, when life is nothing like you pictured it, what will be worth more? Knowing another statistic about your school, or a piece of the human experience?

My semester started off in possibly the most ridiculous way ever. I showed up for my first class about twenty minutes early, nerd that I am, and waited patiently for everyone else to show. About five minutes before class was set to begin, I began to freak. No one had showed. Not even the professor. I had either gone to the wrong room or they had changed it and I didn't get the memo. I had my computer with me, so I whipped it out and checked my schedule online, but something had changed. The building code and room number on my schedule for the class, sometime within the past twenty-four hours, had been deleted (bad thing). I went to the Circle Park office. They told me to go to religious studies. I went to religious studies, and they told me to go to philosophy. I showed up on the tenth floor of the cramped humanities tower (it smells like a strange mixture between decaying books and cigarettes) and my luck slowly began to change. The woman at the desk, Susan Williams, politely informed me that my class had been cancelled, and that none of the other sections would fit into my schedule. This conversation took about thirty minutes. She then offered to fit me into another class that would fulfill even more of my gen. ed. requirements (good thing). I thanked her profusely and went on my, now, merry way.

The next day I had to wake up at seven and walk a mile in the pouring rain to my physics lecture, getting books ($300), calculator ($100), clothes, shoes, paper, and bag completely soaked. I have physics and biology in the same morning, and if I die within the next semester, arrest those two professors. They both look like they are going to be really good teachers, but the subject matter is going to be ridiculous. On second thought, if I die, arrest physics itself.

I'm sorry if I am boring you, but I just want to be honest. UT isn't always sunshine and Stepford. Things get messed up, it rains, classes are hard, life happens...and then it goes on.

Later that day, I dried everything out and went to my creative writing class. We talked about what our favorite music is, which cheered me up considerably. Right now, I'm listening to Love is Hell by Ryan Adams, and sometimes that's all I need to feel like things have some sort of continuity and everything will end up alright.

This beautiful photo was provided by my friend and artist, Katie Burriss. Many thanks.