My twenty-second year

A Summary:

Yesterday, my mom called to wish me Happy Birthday. She said she was proud of all that I've accomplished this year. She said I should be proud too. She said I've done more things and been to more places at 22 than most people have by the time they're 50. I'm not sure about that, but as I thought about the last year of my life, I had to admit to myself that, at least, it has been an interesting 12 months.

You always hear about how going away to college can be a frightening, confusing experience. I think the real test comes when you're standing at the edge of your educational career with all that you've learned and experienced, and then having to take that next step away from what is comfortable and familiar.

The last year of my life has offered me a glimpse into what my life will be like for many years. There is no doubt that my career has taken a front seat. I'm happy about it. I'm a different person than I was a year ago when I walked the blocks of downtown Erie, PA with a few friends and had my first legal drinks. Since that day I've had six different roommates in five cities in four different states. My bedroom windows have opened to drunk college parties, a forest with a stream, a congested highway, my dog in the backyard and palm trees with exotic birds swaying above sparkling pools. I've made new friends, strengthened previous friendships and watched as others faded away.

I've been to sweaty Congressional steroid hearings, a lavish dinner with the President and cramped Supreme Court cases. I've watched movies with poor, rural families at the local drive-in, explored a treehouse with a lightning victim and went fishing on the Atlantic with inner-city kids. I've interviewed racecar drivers, senators, political refugees, beauty pageant contestants, movie stars, Holocaust survivors and a punk band. I got an email from Clint Black (bad grammar... HA!) I've watched a corpse on a gurney roll across a parking lot, marched and rallied late into the night with right-wing Conservative Christians, joked with Condoleeza Rice while drunk, stayed up all night during a Presidential election and helped an elderly veteran get his rare WWII rifle back from local police.

But there are other things that I remember most — true milestones in my life: walking my mother down the aisle at her wedding, carrying the casket of a close friend, having the first beer with the father I hadn't talked to in two years.

And as a plethora of things have changed, a few things have remained the same and helped me through the tough times: an understanding and supportive girlfriend, my family and close friends, the ol' Silver Bullet with the windows down, a Killians and a Parliament.

This will be the last real post. I'm heading back to East Lansing in a week and I really can't wait to get back into the swing of things, see my friends and family, shotgun a beer on the balcony, write my first State News byline since May 2004 and order up a Rodeo Burger and Blue Moon at the Barrel. It's high time that journalism took a back seat and let other aspects of my life take shotgun. When people have asked me over the last year questions like, "so how was Erie?" or "did you enjoy DC?" the answer has always been just a slight variation of the same statement: "I really loved it, had fun, and met great people. But I still missed home."