This entry is meant to introduce you to me. Being a self-centered person (not a good thing, I know, but at least I can admit it), this shouldn’t be a hard one to write. But I’m still hazy about who I am and who I want to be. I guess that’s something I’m supposed to figure out in the next four years or so. Maybe I’ll never be sure. For now, I’ll just talk about what I’m more sure about, saving the uncertainties for later posts.
First, the basics. I am an 18-year-old freshman at the University of Wisconsin, majoring (probably) in computer science. Along with computers, I like English, Spanish, linguistics, history, and philosophy. I hate math, but I’m still not too bad at it. I don’t have that many hobbies because I’m usually too busy to cultivate them, but I like reading, writing, listening to music (who doesn’t…), playing video games, developing websites and software, and watching football. I have two jobs right now. I work as a web developer for a small company in Phoenix whose website is too ugly to be worthy of linkage. One day we’ll get around to redesigning it. On the side, I am the webmaster for the ASM Student Elections Commission. We’re the group that plans and runs elections for the university’s student government, and I keep our single web page up-to-date. It sounds boring, but it’s a lot less stressful and more fun than my main job.
Now, some history. It is strange to say, but I’m not really from anywhere. I was born in Springfield, Missouri, and most of my extended family lives around there. My family moved from Springfield to Salt Lake City when I was eight. We only spent two years there, moving to Phoenix in 1999. After adjusting to the desert heat, I grew to love it there. I found a band of friends who were almost as geeky as me, and we hung out together all through middle school and the first year and a half of high school. In about 7th grade I made my first website, and in 8th grade my friends and I spent much of our spare time posting on an online forum I’d set up. We’d set aside some of those nerdy habits by high school, but the friendships remained tight - the summer before freshman year, my two best friends and I went to Europe together. As you can imagine, I was surprised and crestfallen when I learned in the fall of 2004 that we would be relocating to either Boise or Milwaukee by the end of the year. Eventually, my parents decided on Wisconsin.
At first, I tried to be positive. While I didn’t want to leave my friends or the life I had in Arizona, I figured that perhaps starting over wouldn’t be so bad. It wasn’t like Wisconsin was another country or anything. My optimism didn’t last very long. It snowed about a foot the first night we were here. I had to spend a miserable month cooped up at home because my school’s second semester didn’t start until the end of January. When school finally did start, I felt like both a ghost and an alien at the same time. Since the year was already half over and classes changed after each term, most people just assumed I’d been there all along and didn’t pay that much attention to me. If I mentioned that I’d just come from Arizona, I’d usually get a confused look that meant, “Why the heck would you want to move here then?”
People in general were different - more family oriented, less open, very traditional. It wasn’t all bad; they were also not as materialistic or judgmental as Arizonans. My first eight months in Wisconsin were a dark and depressing time for me. I became very quiet and reserved, going entire days without uttering a word. I kept my grades up, even though my Wisconsin high school was significantly harder and I was continuing to take AP European History with my Arizona teacher via email. I made a few friends, but none were very close, and some of them I didn’t really like that much. I didn’t hang out with anyone. I didn’t understand the things that most Wisconsin kids are into, like hunting and hockey and ice fishing. For some reason, though my unhappiness was deep and sometimes a little dangerous, no one seemed to notice. I felt like a machine that did nothing but go to school and do homework, like an emotionless, thoughtless robot. I knew that I was as much a victim of my failure to adapt as I was a victim of an untimely move, but I didn’t know what to do to dig myself out of my hole.
Things began to look up in my junior year. I began the IB Diploma Programme, which is similar to AP but more comprehensive and with more meshing between courses. At first, not much changed. I was still quiet, and I still didn’t have any good friends. Then, in mid-October, I was tasked with writing a short essay on my definition of success. Instead of turning them in, the teacher surprised us by having us read our essays aloud in class. I was mortified. In Arizona, I was a bit of a teacher’s pet. I asked questions and gave answers all the time, and I enjoyed being smart. That disappeared after the move. I never wanted to say anything. And so the thought of putting my work out in the open for twenty other minds to appraise was terrifying. When my turn came, I somehow read my essay without stumbling too much, even though my heart was racing. There was a long pause after I’d finished and everyone’s eyes were on me. I was grateful when the teacher finally asked the next person to read. Later, I got the graded essay back with an A+ on the front and a comment on the back that said something like, “You are an excellent writer, and the whole class was hanging on your every word while you read this. Please share your thoughts in class more often.” I felt encouraged, but the damage of the previous year would take a while to undo.
The school year moved on, and I became the lead design editor of my school’s newspaper and a tutor in the writing center. I did a few things with my church’s youth group but never got too into it. Two other papers, an English one that my teacher copied and used as an example for everyone else and a history essay that I had to read in class, cemented me as one of the brightest in our little group of “IB kids.” But while I had the others’ respect, I didn’t really have their friendship. And though I was no longer so sad, I still wasn’t very happy. It was a transitional period.
In the summer of 2006, I spent two months taking classes at Stanford University. It was, without a doubt, the most incredible experience of my short life. It was eight weeks of near-complete freedom. I spent my weekends on day trips to San Francisco, Monterrey, Marin County, or Palo Alto, my weekdays programming games in Java or learning about word roots, and my nights goofing around in the dorm or throwing oranges at people or snuggling with girls (!) at mattress parties. I met my best friend at Stanford. For the first time in a long while, I felt alive. It was difficult to leave, and even more challenging to return to high school in the fall after having that little taste of college.
The first half of senior year was much like the year before. I was unhappy again, vexed by the huge difference between life at Stanford and real life in Wisconsin. School was harder than ever, and I had a bunch of IB exams in May to look forward to. My social life improved a little. I went to a couple of parties in December with two IB-kid friends, and I played Guitar Hero for the first time. I began eating lunch at school again, having abandoned the practice sophomore year as I lacked anyone to sit with. I finally had my driver’s license. I was reborn a little.
In May, it felt like all of my efforts during the previous two years came to a climax. I chose a college, spent three weeks skipping school in order to study for and take exams, and I put a huge amount of effort into making the final issue of the newspaper that I worked on the best of them all. Freedom came in June, and it was sweet. I went to some graduation parties, and a few party parties. I had a birthday party with my friends. My parents gave me a MacBook Pro. Things were looking up a little bit. I spend the second half of the summer in Arizona, since my family was moving back. I got to hang out with my old friends again, though Arizona no longer felt like home.
Fast forward a few months, and here I am, nearing the end of my first semester of college, feeling far away from and yet still similar to the timid Brett that left the desert for the hinterland three long years ago. I apologize for the crazy length of this entry, but now at least I won’t need to keep going over this stuff in future entries.
It feels so good to be blogging again.
