The bags under my eyes have grown pretty permanent. It’s not genetic. I just haven’t been getting much sleep for, well, about four years now. Too much time, too many late nights, staring at an empty page, trying to start writing.
Empty computer screens always leer at me. You know nothing, Josh. You are a bad writer. You are never going to get to sleep. You can’t conquer me, you have 800 words to go. I hate you.
This time, its glaring is intensified. Normally I’m writing about topics I know. Student organizations, speech and expression rights, Georgetown’s finances. But this is the dreaded Senior Viewpoint – it should be insightful and nostalgic, but not melancholy or, God forbid, schmaltzy. A little melodrama is okay, if you went through some sort of tragedy or something. It should be grounded in the writer but still, you know, universal. And bear in mind that all the other Viewpoints are senior reflections in this issue. And that, in general, every senior at Georgetown can do little but remark that they can’t believe it: college is over. Just sum all that up and say something original in the 600 words left.
Senior Viewpoints should be the newspaper equivalent of the Happy Memory montage in a movie. Fade in: there’s the freshman with his dad, getting dropped off at college; going to make so many friends, do so well in classes, have so much fun, why am I scared as hell? Swipe to: new friends at college, look at those big smiles, must be that bottle of Jack Daniels, it’s a Thursday night and we have Friday classes. Next frame: no liquor in this picture, but there he is with a pretty girlfriend, oh, they look so happy, why is she about to go abroad for a year? Cut to: with the staff of the newspaper, it’s an extracurricular activity, it’s great to get involved like that, can’t screw up, this gets printed 10,000 times.
The frames keep getting faster: there he is taking a test, girl gone Jack back, at the Big East Tournament, in the library at four in the morning, arguing about something in class, arguing about something in Leavey 421, at unforgettable parties – oh man, look how drunk everybody is, there’s one friend falling off a ladder, there’s another sitting in the ice bucket. The frames are fast but you wouldn’t really understand them unless you were there, and because now I’ve only got 400 words to say everything I still want to say.
Why does Georgetown have this Catholic identity crisis? Why is it a hotbed of racial and socio-economic tension? Why isn’t our university better? Why can’t we disagree with each other’s arguments without name-calling? Why are administrators opposed to THE HOYA being an independent newspaper? Why are they scared of giving students freedom of expression? Why can’t they just be honest about it? I’ve cared about these issues so deeply _ so earnestly _ for so long. And that’s it, now I will never write about them again.
300 words to share the lessons I learned. The stuff we learn in class is secondary. As freshmen our minds were ready for this, it’s our hearts and our egos that were too fragile and unprepared. Having an ego and having self-esteem are not the same. Loving someone and understanding someone are not the same. Sometimes, life can be controlled. Sometimes, it is what it is, and you have to accept it. You lose a lot of sleep learning lessons like that.
250 words left: make them count! Thanks to all of you, who helped me through, friends, family, roommates; I never would have made it without you because when I look in the mirror _ that’s what this is, reflection _ I see a lot of blemishes and pettiness; I have a tendency to hold major grudges for minor slights, sometimes I lie about small stuff, sometimes I lie about big stuff, sometimes I get angry about trivial stuff, I can be really scathing _ and I’m sorry for all the times any of you were on the short end of my temper _ 150 words _ and in the mirror I see my weaknesses: the way I only work well under pressure, how I can get destroyed by a silver dress on the right girl, how I always miss deadlines, how I get threatened when you disagree with me, the way I get cathartic when I’m low and I try to drag you just as low _ 75 words _ and I have no idea what’s on this road ahead, and once again I’m scared as hell because the end is coming so fast _ 50 words _ it’s like a ticking bomb these final days, but even with the anxiety, bitterness, confusion, disillusion, of these days and nights if I could replay these four years I’d never sleep _ I’d never blink _ 15 words _ because missing one second of this _ with all of you _ just wouldn’t be worth it.
Josh Zumbrun is a senior in the School of Foreign Service. He is a former viewpoint editor, managing editor, editor in chief, member of the editorial board and chair of THE HOYA’s board of directors.
