never let 'em see you sweat.

It felt great to ramble last night, so humor me again. Also note that this post was partially inspired by this article that's currently rotating around the social media sphere. And for good reason.

I've struggled my entire life with the impossible mantra of "Never let 'em see you sweat." I felt the pressing need to be perfect in any situation doled out at me. Here I'd been given every opportunity in life (education, economic status, health) that it seemed like a colossal waste to not accomplish every goal set in front of me, and accomplish it to perfection. Otherwise, I was just lazy and ungrateful. 


This summer I started my first serving gig at a dine-in theater. In other words, waitressing in the dark. The job intimidated the hell out of me, but I put on my game face and served liters and liters of Pepsi products with a smile. I kept my cool under every possible duress; managers yelling at me, customers refusing to pay, checks with a zero and a little frowny face where the tip amount should go. The other servers often commented on how put together I was, how unfazed I became for hours on end. 

But here's the thing: I went home and cried my eyes out every single night after work. I was miserable. I took so much crap from so many people and let it sink in, telling myself that I was new and simply making mistakes. I didn't eat before most of my shifts because I was so nervous that I would get yelled at or be fired. 

Even today, sitting on my stationary cycle in a course-mandated spinning class, I was determined to literally not let my classmates see me sweat, afraid that I would look like an out of shape waif. (How stupid is that? Sweating is super good for you!)

You can only imagine the pressure I put on myself during this transfer process. I was so sure that I could seamlessly slip into a position of all-knowing power and ease. A junior at Furman is equivalent to a junior anywhere else, right?

Wrong. 

I'm relearning everything. I can act like nothing fazes me and I know exactly what I'm doing, but it isn't entirely helpful when it comes to figuring out the bus schedule. (I have nightmares about buses now, y'all. That I'm abandoned in forests and missing my morning spin classes. Which is a shame, cause the instructor is a total fox.)

Relearning is the most humbling experience I've yet to face. I went from knowing all of the answers to not even knowing which library I'm supposed to use to find those answers. I feel helpless 75 percent of the day. The other 25 percent I'm hiding in my room napping or watching reruns of The Mindy Project. I'm (hypothetically) becoming a better person, learning a different way of life, but at what cost? 

I miss my Furman friends. I put serious work into making that campus work to my advantage, only to throw it out and start again? It hardly seems logical, or even fair. My favorite rebuttal is "But you'd be doing the same thing two years down the road. Starting at a new grad school, or internship, or city." I respond as so: In two years I would have a whole support system dealing with very similar situations. 

Granted, I have a fantastic panel of confidants now, but they're cheering me on from the hallowed halls of a shared apartment building. And yes, other transfers can empathize with the frustrations of being a college-aged new kid, but the majority of them are in-state students and know people here from high school, church, or sports. Even then, a good deal of transfers are coming from equally large institutions. They're used to taking a bus or walking five miles to get to class. Coming from a 2600 person school boasts few advantages, if any. 

I'm struggling. I am reeeeeally struggling. I get texts daily saying, "How's college life?" "Are you loving UNC??? :)" It breaks my heart that I can't respond positively, but even worse that I can't respond honestly. Those replies would probably go something like, "I've never been more lost or lonely in my life and I'm so overwhelmed with people and clubs and classes that I'd rather just pack up and go home. Also I miss not wearing my tennis shoes on the daily because my feet hurt so much." 

Miserable is a strong (and probably inaccurate) word to describe how I'm feeling, but I'm sick of going solo to meals, not recognizing faces as I walk to class, and giving myself hourly pep talks to make it through the day and keep from bursting into tears. 

Of course I'll get through this. I'm not enough of a pessimist to believe that this relocation will destroy me. I'm malleable, I'm resourceful, I'm charming and friendly in most situations. 

However, it's also important to know that this move isn't an afternoon scrimmage on the links. It is an uphill cycling tour de force, aka resistance power number fourteen on my stationary bike. And I am sweating so, so much.