I distinctly remember the first time I remember hearing the "F Word." I phrase it that way because I was in third grade the first time I remember hearing it and I'm pretty sure that it's highly improbable I made it through eight years of life without hearing it at least a handful of times. This hypothesis is based mostly on an incident that I have no recollection of, when my mother, brother and I, recent New York transplants to northern Idaho, witnessed a moose running through our backyard. When re-telling the story to my father, my mom said "There was a moose outside today!" and three-year-old Jonny stated, "No, Mommy, it's not JUST a moose. You said it was a F*CKING moose!" It's a family-favorite story that very accurately depicts our drastic life decision to move to Idaho, but like I said, I have no memory of that moment.
Anyway, by the time I remember hearing the "F Word" for the first time, we were as well adjusted as New York natives could possibly be in northern Idaho. It was late December and we were taking an indoor recess, a surprisingly rare event considering the winter weather conditions that usually ravaged Sandpoint, and of course, we were watching "A Christmas Story." I remember sitting by my friends, all of whom had older siblings, and, when Ralphie said the curse word to his father, everyone around me giggled while I looked around, confused.
"What word did they say?," I asked. They responded by actually saying it, giggling again and citing that they'd learned it from their older siblings. After the giggles subsided, they explained further. "It's the worst word you could ever possibly say," they stated solemnly, as only a third grader can. "It's very, very bad." That is the moment I realized that I needed to 1) get an older sibling so I could learn new words and also listen to Eminem, a thing that they were all allowed to do and I was not as well as 2) Never, ever say the "F Word."
The likelihood of me keeping that elementary promise was slim, but it shrunk to basically non-existent when I started working for a newspaper in high school and quickly learned that the ability to drop an F-bomb is a necessity for sanity in my profession. Still, it was the first thing that I consciously remember telling myself not to do... and then actively doing. And, throughout my 22 years of life, there have come to be a lot of things I've done that I said I'd never do. Once I made the switch from glasses to contacts in sixth grade, I swore I'd never wear glasses again, but if you've interacted with me at all since I acquired my hipster-status glasses two years ago, you know that is a false statement. When I was heading to college, I said I'd never join a sorority, yet I was an active member of Kappa Delta all four years of school and will buy almost anything with a nautilus shell on it when I'm feeling nostalgic. And, literally for three straight years on December 11, a date of absolutely no sentimental value, but purely coincidence I kept track of via my 5 Year Diary, I tried to get back together my ex-boyfriend, always telling myself I'd never go through the process of arguing about our relationship again (but, of course, I did).
The point is that there are things I've said I'll never do that I've ended up doing and really appreciating the experience. And, while maybe rehashing out an old relationship multiple times isn't necessarily one of them, here are three things I said I would never do that I am so, so glad I did.
I will never go to a concert alone.
Because I have been using my 5 Year Diary for the past three years, I know the exact date I met my friend Jamison. But, even if I didn't keep a brief recording of every day of my life, I'd still know when Jamison and I met because it was exactly two days after iOS7 was released.
Every year, one of my favorite Ball State fraternities throws a party called "FIJI Isle," where everyone dresses up in bathing suits and Hawaiian prints and, despite the cold fall weather, proceeds to act like we are literally in the FIJI Isles. It's the best. Because I am an awkward human being that's surprisingly bad at planning and always wait until the last second to find a date to things, the Thursday before the Saturday event, I entrusted my friend Sarah to find me someone to go with and, thus, I met Jamison.
Jamison and I actually met the night before FIJI Isle at a party, where I most definitely terrified him. True to my graphic designer roots, I opened with some form of "Hi, I'm your date for tomorrow," and, upon glancing at his phone, immediately launched into "Oh, you have iOS7?! HOW COOL IS THE FONT?!" Because I lose the ability to pick up on social cues after seeing well-designed products, I proceeded to talk incessantly about ampersands and Helvetica for the next 25 minutes.
Despite my weird affliction with fonts, Jamison and I got along beautifully and he is now one of my greatest friends, attributed partially to the fact that he sometimes sends me photos of old LIFE magazines to give me when I make my return to Muncie, but mostly because we like all the same weird things and both wear beanies as if they are permanently attached to our bodies. When we were first becoming friends last year, it was during the time period of my life where I had taken up a semi-permanant residence in the basement of our school's library to design a digital publication and, sometimes, Jamison would come keep me company, which was highly distracting, but very appreciated. It was during one of these times that he told me he had gone to a music festival by himself and I looked at him as if he were certifiably crazy, which coincidentally was the same look he gave me when I had verbally attacked him about fonts. He said it was awesome -- I swore it was a thing I would never do.
Less than one year later, life found me way up in the front of the crowd during The 1975's set at Boston Calling, holding an IPA and enjoying the music/Matt Healy/Matt Healy's hair completely alone. And, you know what? It was awesome. The reason I adore music festivals is because everyone feels connected and attending one alone only exemplified that feeling of closeness with strangers. I was able to have the experience on my terms and, while I had initially expected there to be some sort of awkward self-consciousness, I felt entirely at ease and confident with the situation.
Of course, it should be noted that I did not attend the entire three-day festival alone. On Saturday, while my brother spent the day recreating a real-life Mouse Trap scene in his Allston apartment, I enjoyed the festival with three of his roommates. And, on Friday night, I coincidentally bumped into one of the other Boston Globe interns on the T and we ended up going to the concert together, where I preceded to bang my way into her friend group and had a wonderful time. Still, I'm thankful for the few hours I experienced the concert alone -- I truly believe it was a confidence-building and enlightening experiment that helped me fall further in love with music festivals (and Matt Healy/Matt Healy's hair).
I will never go somewhere with a stranger.
There are only two things in life that I am a Number One Fan of -- Jamison's baby cousin, Jax, whom I've never met, but from what I can tell by my thorough Facebook stalking, is assuredly the most adorable human being on the planet, and the restaurant Rock Bottom.
This past February, I was lucky enough to get the opportunity to be on the graphics team for BSU at the Games, a situation that allowed me to work for the Chicago Tribune and live in the city for two weeks with six other Ball State students, creating Olympics graphics for the paper. It was an amazing professional experience, mostly in the sense of our actual graphic design careers, but just in case that doesn't work out, we also worked hard on honing our reality television personality skills. You see, early-on in the trip, we decided to film our time in Chicago through confessionals in the style of the popular MTV reality show, the Real World. We were Real World Chicago and over two weeks, we were going to show what happened when graphics stopped getting polite and started getting real.
On our first night in Chicago/on the Real World, we went to a restaurant a block down the street from our hotel called Rock Bottom. And, for literally every single night of the rest of the trip, we had at least one beer there... although to be honest, after a long day at work, generally much more than one beer was had by all.
It wasn't just the beer that had us coming back every night, it was the whole atmosphere of the restaurant, minus the time that we were pretty sure we saw people doing coke in the bathroom. The food was good, the music was great, the beer was cheap -- it was the perfect place to unwind after interviewing and illustrating all day.
I hadn't been to a Rock Bottom since Ellen and I had filmed a confessional on the floor of the restroom, so when I flew into Indy in July for my friend Taylor's wedding and saw there was one close to our hotel, I somewhat convinced/mostly forced Allie and Dia to go there with me before we went to my friend Anna's apartment for the night.
Our waiter hadn't even gotten us to our table yet before he commented on my eagerness and, with the same enthusiasm I have about fonts, I blurted out "I'M ROCK BOTTOM'S NUMBER ONE FAN!" I told our waiter, Bart, all about my obsession with Rock Bottom -- about how I loved the IPA, about how the music was so good, about how the music was so good that I had emailed corporate asking for the playlist and about how my email to them was so excited that they actually made me my own "Rock Bottom Playlist" on Spotify. By the time Bart brought us our drinks, I had already solidified myself in his eyes as Rock Bottom's Number One Fan For Life and also, I suspected, as very, very crazy.
Either I was wrong or it didn't matter to Bart that I was crazy, because shortly before he brought us our check, he sat down at our table with me, Allie and Dia to talk and, as it would turn out, to ask us out for another drink at a bar down the street. Now, I may have grown up in a small town in northern Idaho where strangers were probably more likely to actually give you candy in the back of their van than kidnap you, but I grew up in that small town raised by parents who were straight up New Yorkers, complete with the thick accent and wary distrust of humans. Thus, my mother had taught me at an early age that I would never, ever go somewhere with a stranger.
Yet, although the logic is highly, highly flawed, we figured that someone named Bartholomew probably wouldn't kill us in an open bar and so, we accepted his invitation. However, before we left Rock Bottom, I texted the entirety of Real World Chicago to let them know we were about to go out with a Rock Bottom waiter, partly because it was sort of like going out with a minor celebrity, but mostly so multiple people knew where I was in case Bart did decide to kill us.
But, you know what? Bart did not kill us. He chewed with his mouth open and did not pay for our beers and ate an absurd amount of seafood, but he did not kill us. For that, I am thankful. I told myself I would never go somewhere with a stranger, but going out with Bart was an experience -- not necessarily a good one, not necessarily a bad one, but in all, an experience that I am happy to have had, learned from and tell multiple strangers about via this blog post on the Internet.
I will never drink coffee.
When I was little, I was pretty sure that I would never drink beer. I didn't go as far as promising myself that this was something I would never do because even when I was young, I could see that there was probably something appealing about drinking a cold beer, but still, I was fairly positive it wouldn't be something I would ever engage in or actively enjoy.
I did, however, tell myself that I would never, ever drink coffee.
Looking back on it now, both of these statements are laughable -- in college, I drank more coffee than water and my favorite night of the week was Thursday, the day where unlimited pitchers of beer literally only cost a penny at The Locker Room. But, back when I promised myself I would never drink coffee, it was for two reasons.
The first reason was pretty superficial: I didn't want to drink coffee because I'd heard it stunted your growth and I was already the shortest one out of all my friends. The second reason ran slightly deeper than the fact that I was the sole member of the 5'2" club until I went to college and made sure to surround myself constantly with other short humans. It was because I did not ever want to be dependent on something as insignificant as a hot drink in the morning. I saw how people I knew -- my parents, my best friend, my boyfriend -- were completely useless without beginning their day with coffee and I swore I would never be like that. This promise was easily kept throughout all of high school and half of my college career because I considered coffee with the same contempt that people who wear D.A.R.E. shirts unironically feel about drugs.
Also, I didn't really like the taste.
But, like almost all the journalists I know and in a situation eerily similar to when the "F Word" became part of my vocabulary, my job sprouted my coffee addiction. I was designing at The Ball State Daily News one night my sophomore year when I realized I would not be able to survive the night without caffeine. And, because I not only promised myself, but also my mother that I would never drink energy drinks, when I went down to the Atrium to find something to keep me awake all night, I chose a coffee. I still wasn't a huge fan of the taste, but with the same determination that made me learn to like the free beer on Spring Break, I slowly, but surely, became a coffee drinker.
I suppose that it's ironic I'm writing a post about how I once told myself I'd never drink coffee while sitting in a Starbucks, grande latte in hand. But, I've now developed a different relationship with the drink I said I'd never sip. Coffee hasn't made me dependent on it -- instead, it's helped me become more independent. It's even helped me develop my relationships, whether that be with Jason and Sandy, the Atrium workers who sold me multiple cups every day in college, coworkers at The Globe that I chat with as we go to the cafeteria together in the mornings and even my family, whose coffee addictions have spread to the point that my brother has begun to roast his own beans and hold cuppings for us with the same seriousness of someone who has been in the coffee business for years. Like all of the other things that I said I would never do and then did, I would be a completely different person today if I didn't drink coffee and right now in my life, I'm pretty happy with the way I've turned out.
And, as for it stunting my growth? I'll always be that short girl that likes talking about ampersands and fonts. No amount of coffee or lack thereof is going to change that.