Woo-Pig! I'm a Razorback, Afterall!

In last week's blog I left you hanging with one thought: regret. I really need to resolve this because I'm making my friend Tarina very nervous, which, just goes to my point that we are not comfortable admitting regret. So, I've run back to Fayetteville for literally 24 hours of reflection and discovery. Not to be overly dramatic, but I feel a little bit like Elizabeth Gilbert who wrote, "Eat, Pay, Love" except that for her adventures of self-discovery, she traveled all over the world eating foreign food, learning foreign languages and enjoying the company of foreign men. I on the other hand, travelled to a place where not only do we speak the same language, we do it with the same accent; a place where the closest I came to foreign food was Chick-Fil-A and where, alas, I encountered no foreign men. But, other than that, it was exactly the same as Ms. Gilbert.


I'm 37 and perfectly capable of travelling alone, but I will say, unashamedly, that the first thing I did on my big adventure was to let my parents know that I had arrived safely (funny, there was no mention of anything like this in Gilbert's book.) Furthermore, the only reason I didn't call my husband was because he was out of the country. Let's just say we're a really close family and pretend it has nothing to do with any sort of family dysfunctions. The second thing was to lace up my asics and hit the hills of Northwest Arkansas. It was 80 degrees and completely gorgeous. A perfect day for running; for remembering; for just being. I ran and I ran and I ran. I ran past the Chi-Omega house where, after sharing a single room with some 15 other sisters, I learned the enormous value of earplugs (a habit that I'm still trying to break!) I ran past the music building, where I lived while not at the Chi-O house. I ran past the performing arts building where I once donned a black wig for my starring role in "The Mikado." Well that might be a stretch. I think was something like Maid #3, but whatever, I did get to sing "Three Little Maids From School Are We." I ran and then I ran some more. I ran. I laughed. I cried. I ran past the sidewalk where the names of my graduating class were etched and I even ran past (and up to) the doorway of the athletic dorm where my heart was first broken.


Immersed in my trip down memory lane, I was oblivious to those around me. I had been basically alone, but suddenly there were beautiful people all around me. Now, the University of Arkansas is full of beautiful people, but this was like out of a movie; almost dream-like. Where did you come from and why are you so young? I slowed down to barely a walk. I was engulfed by pride, ugly and unexpected, as I tried quickly and hopelessly to suck-in, tuck-in and stick-out all the right parts in hopes that I could still pull off 22 (or, at the very least, like non-trad law student at 28 or 29.) But I quickly gave up, knowing in my heart that no matter how much sucking, tucking or plucking; no matter how many lotions and potions, lifting and shifting, my life will never again resemble that of a college student. And I'm o.k. with that, in fact, I'm grateful for that.


Even still, I decided I should finish my run strong. I mean a little pride can be healthy right? So, I sped up. Sprinting now and almost back to my hotel, some guy in a run-down pickup truck waved for me to cross in front of him. As I did, he yelled, "Lookin' Good!" 20 years ago, I would have feigned offense, but today I just muttered a quiet thank you---quiet because I thought it would be inappropriate to yell back, "Heck yeah I do and thanks for noticing!" And quiet because that's all the breath I could muster.


After my run, I watched the Razorbacks play baseball in their "new to me" stadium. I spent more time on campus and I watched the clock tick on. By the end of the day, I had happily come to the conclusion that this trip was not about regret at all. It was about resolution. It was about closure. I left so quickly that basically, I had never said goodbye. I have always regretted not graduating from the University of Arkansas.  Well enough, already!! I went to school at the University of Arkansas. I had the whole "college experience" at the University of Arkansas and diploma or not, this is my Alma Mater. My story is not about hasty decisions and regret. My story is about a young lady who, surrounded by the strength of her family, was able to stand up and make a choice for herself and her future. This story is about being brave. Moving to Nebraska, which, at the time, was as foreign a country as I had ever visited was exciting and scary and full of possibilities. And come to think of it, if Nebraska is a foreign country then there's a foreign man in my story after all!


Last week I said it's never too late to get it right and, as it turns out, I think I did. Furthermore, I've forgiven myself for what I viewed as a total failure to finish what I started. As I raise my children, I want to make sure that I continue to be brave (or rather to be brave, again!) so that they see strength and confidence as their example. I want my children to be fearless; to be risk takers; to go full-force chasing their dreams (unless, of course, that dream is to play hockey) and to believe, no matter how far-fetched, that with God, anything is impossible.