By: Courtney Lyons, Opinion Editor
Remember the app Episode? The interactive fiction app that inhabited the home screen of every tween girl’s iPod in the 2010s? That app epitomizes my collegiate experience. Unfortunately, it did not do so because of my being the main character of the app’s feigned dating show narratives or being the girl able to win over the school’s infamous noncommittal heartbreaker. Instead, its structure parallels my four years at Canisius.
The app’s slogan is “Choose Your Story,” but that is a bit of a misnomer: you could “choose your story” only if you paid for special gems: without the gems you were stuck in the corny default option of wearing pajamas to prom or tripping over a banana peel in front of your crush.
For my first two years at Canisius, I lived on default: I wore the pajamas to prom and fell victim to the banana peel embarrassment. By that I mean I could only be found on Canisius property for the 900 minutes of class per week (not including the time spent circling the parking lot for a spot). My classmates didn’t know my name, and I didn’t know theirs: I never wanted Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak more than when professors said to find a partner lest I would be another group’s unwelcome third wheel.
I thought that’s what I wanted out of college experience – get a degree and get out. The thought of keeping my nose to the grindstone was more attractive than its inhalation of secondhand vape at overcrowded houseparties (little did I know that those weren’t the only two options). Rather than the exclusive, gem-only experience of sanguine happiness and everlasting friendship, I resigned myself to the “college experience” that consisted of mere books and papers. Gem-less, despaired, lonely and lost, I knew I had to change my perspective and my situation.
Unlike my broke prepubescent self who could not afford any more iTunes gift cards to purchase gems to figure out her secret admirer on Episode, in college I found my gems through other avenues, specifically by stepping outside of my comfort zone. I entered college as a history major and my freshman year self, who bawled her eyes out over a five page paper in HON 101, would be shocked that I major in English, willingly write without pay for the student newspaper, had a piece published in the school’s literary magazine and devote time each week to tutoring fellow writers. It was through The Griffin and the Writing Center that I connected myself to an institution I formerly felt I had no personal stake in. Continuing to accumulate gems, I also did what my high school self swore I would never do: join a sorority. Realizing that the Zeta Xi Chapter of Phi Sigma Sigma was nothing like University of Alabama Rush Week, I found an organization that possessed the perfect amalgamation of social and service events where I could thrive surrounded by strong women.
Mining for my metaphorical gems was not an enterprise rooted in Emersonian individualism: I had a three-pronged support network consisting of my family, friends and professors. Their guidance not only helped me find my gems, but allowed them to shine.
Within a three-mile radius in Lancaster, New York, I have a familial “Core Nine:” my parents, sisters Sydney and Ashleigh, grandparents, aunt (a.k.a. Kelbabe), uncle (a.k.a. GarBear) and my cousin, Brittany. They have been my constant for the last 21 years, providing stability through the physical, mental and emotional undulations that accompany my academic and personal life. None of them care about what my transcript says – all that matters is reading my facial expressions and understanding my true self. Everyday I thank them by attempting to embody their best attributes: Mom’s unconditional love and gentle heart, Dad’s courage and intelligence, Ashleigh’s loyalty, Sydney’s confidence, Grandma’s benevolence, Grandpa’s diligence (and superb fashion sense), Kelbabe’s dependability, GarBear’s empathy and Brittany’s perseverance. There was nothing that a Friday Applebee’s dinner with Mom and Dad, Our Lady of Pompeii Tuesday Bingo with Grandma, mani/pedi day with Kelbabe or a 38th Disney trip couldn’t solve.
I also have a chosen family: my friends, the people who possess the undeniable talent of hyping me up and subsequently humbling me in one 60-second span. I would not trade telling Maddy to get her feet out of others’ backpacks on Thursday Griffin nights or ranking Disney villains with Anna and Cece for the world.
In my first editorial, I wrote that “The student-instructor relationship breathes life into Canisius’ unfeeling walls” and believe I never penned a truer statement: For eight consecutive semesters I had the privilege of cultivating relationships with the most brilliant, keen and compassionate people I have ever met.
The acme of my academic career has been working alongside Dr. Bruce Dierenfield. Hours spent with Dr. Dierenfield in Churchill Tower 607 were not only devoted to crafting my 104-page honors thesis on race in Mississippi and researching Reverend George W. Lee’s life, but also gaining invaluable advice about simultaneously navigating and enjoying life. Similarly, the courses taught by Mr. John Kryder and Mr. Robert Klump and our numerous office hour consultations have imbued me with a sense of purpose and perspective for my future legal career. A special shoutout must also be given to the distinguished English professors who inhabit the ninth floor of Churchill, who have always trusted and encouraged my creative mind.
I got my first law school acceptance two weeks ago – a surreal moment and culmination of my college career. I jokingly complained to my parents, “I can’t even say look at all you people that doubted me, I’m up,” because no one doubted me. The last four years I have been surrounded by people that constantly lift me up and support me and I’m eternally blessed for that.
Don’t spend your time wearing pajamas to prom and slipping on banana peels. Find your gems, but don’t do it alone.
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