Making the Leap

Today was supposed to be a busy day.

I was supposed to wake up at nine for school, go to classes, come back to my dorm for lunch, go to more classes, go get an interview with a guy at Buzz Magazine, then take a test for the Daily Illini to see if I'm worthy of writing for them, then I was supposed to come home and study and read and work until I finished then watch tv for an hour and go to bed.

Like, half of that happened.

First off, I woke up at 11:30, meaning I missed two classes. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I spend all Summer writing about how much I want to change my ways so I don't end up screwing up college. Good start, me. As a saving grace to manner though it seems as if those weren't the most necessary classes to attend. Not that I'm ever doing that again. Once is a mistake. Twice is a habitual problem. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

I went down for "lunch" (a bowl of Coco Puffs, what else?) and left for my 1 PM poetry class. Poetry is a class that at first I intended on dropping, then I intended on getting this one girl's phone number and THEN dropping, and then I realized that this was like the easiest class and the only reason I would have for dropping is if I was self-conscious about being in a poetry class. What a douche I would be. So I went there and seamlessly incorporated Facebooking and poetic analysis (I acknowledge that it sounds like I'm doing a shitty job at college but all we did was talk about words in these poems. They brought up blueblack in the Robert Hayden poem and all kinds of words and words combinations in the Gertrude Stein poem we read. See! I pay attention!).

From there I went to my sportswriting class which I'm sort of secretly in love with. It's in a cold room in a basement and it's three hours long and there's so much to not like about it yet I love it and hang on every word. We had a guest speaker come in and tell us how hard life is if you want to be a reporter. Fuck her. Don't you dare squash my dreams you snobbish succubus. Just kidding. I really liked how she wanted to talk to us and tell us that this will be hard. I am so up for the challenge because, shit, you guys know I can write. (I agree with you, he IS an asshole). But also know that I don't lack motivation at all. I will do whatever it takes to make it in some form or fashion. Anyway, after she finished her spiel (thanks, Dylan!) and we went from there to the Daily Illini headquarters. First off, I got a newspaperboner just looking at their set up. Still in withdrawal from not being able to be on the staff of The Senator (which is a class and production better than that of SHG's stupid Campus Crier), this brought me everything that had and more (with the exception of Ms. Negele). The paper comes out daily, which, duh, it's called the Daily Illini, but still. Damn. Everyone who's been part of a high school newspaper knows that takes a lot. And secondly, the sports editor guys seems really cool and down to earth. Also when I asked him what the DI's alumni have gone on to do, he included reporting for the Green Bay Press Gazette, which is like the number one newspaper I would want to work for as a career. I didn't have to leave to take my test. I did it right there and then I went home and, realizing I had nothing to do, took a nap. Then I got up and started writing this.

Where hath my day of tumults gone?

Oh well. The point of my post is actually this: everything I do here is for everything I will do hereafter. What does that mean? My summer jobs will be semi-professional. My extracurricular activities will become my curricular activities. I'm learning how to do shit that I will do forever, and there seems to be one common theme throughout it all. That theme is one of increased difficulty and less sympathy for those who don't make it. I've been so enraptured in making the leap from high school to college, and now I'm here. So, what's next? Hit the ground running, because this next leap is bigger, badder, and, bam, it's here right now.

Mada, Nick, Classic and I all tried out for a sketch comedy troupe here called Fishing With Dynamite. In Springfield, a sketch comedy troupe would be excited for our coming out to audition. Here? Mada got called back and didn't make it. Go team. I'm not even mad, those guys weren't funny, just good actors. The audition was basically a line-reading contest and the whole idea is devoid of spontaneous thought. Sketch comedy I guess just isn't my thing. There will be two more auditions for my comedic career before I throw in the towel and turn to summer freelancing as my only form of theatre. One is a longform improv troupe which, for those of you who know what it is, just plays Montage for about an hour. That's cool, but, I mean, I always liked playing Freeze Tag anyway. The other is for a short form improv troupe, which I sort of hope to make. It's more the traditional Whose Line games that are easy and fun to play. If I make either of those I'll be ecstatic. If not, then I guess they aren't looking for funny people. Their loss.

Also with this Daily Illini thing, the pressure is on. I have a University wide circulation and a bunch of people hating my guts if I miss a deadline. Much different than the heat of everyone my age or older on The Senator staff. I want to do well on the Daily Illini, and other than that, I want to add other interning opportunities to my resume. I need this stuff if I want to make the leap.

You guys reading this post, I'm sure most of you have somewhere you're trying to leap to as well. You're trying to get from somewhere to somewhere else. There's not as much help administered as there used to be. You have to go and find it for yourself. You have to be damn good at what you do and you have to care about being damn good. I'll never be Brett Favre or Allen Iverson. I'll never be the President of the United States. I'll never care to be a lawyer or doctor and I'll probably make less money than those who pursue those career options. I've given up my pipe dreams, because it's time to start being realistic. The fact is, it is entirely possible that me or someone I hold very close to myself may swing and miss in this world. And while we do live in America, the land of second (and third, etc.) chances, it has always been a tough thing for me to see someone doing something when they really want to be doing something else. I'd like to convince myself that all my friends are the best and that they'll never fail at what they do but, sometimes that's just untrue.

So it's my turn to jump. And though this metaphorical leap is stretched over the course of a four year period, in the grand scheme of things, it's all one instance. One instance where the decision will be made whether I'm a pass or a fail. So for now I've got to continue on my running start and make the second leap. The big one. The only advice I can think to give myself is this: don't look back. But, more importantly, don't look down.

--Eliot Sill