I learned more about myself this week than I have in a long, long time. Let me walk you through some of my new realizations.

On Tuesday nights from 6:00-7:30 I go to Hillel. I joined a Jewish Learning Fellowship with the hopes of meeting other Jewish students on campus and exploring my Jewish identity even further then I did when I studied in Berlin. This past Tuesday our facilitator, Danny, handed us each a piece of paper with the topic of the day on it:

“How Big Is Your Story?”

When I read that, I laughed a little to myself. I’m a nineteen-year-old girl, who had a nervous breakdown this week about my schoolwork, who is still figuring out my place on Northeastern’s campus, and who is truly struggling to locate my path, and now I’m supposed to discuss one of life’s most philosophical questions? We started to break it down as a group. Danny asked us something along the lines of

“What elements make up your story?”

I discussed this with some friends, Spencer and Lauren, and the three of us read things off our lists… family, friends, traveling, college, facing adversity, conversations with different people that have different insights, the nights that you go to bed with a smile on your face, etc. Then as a larger group, we conversed about this topic. I left that night with Spencer and we went to a dining hall and talked for a while. We talked about the social scene at Northeastern and about how our experiences have been different so far. We talked about struggles and fun times and were ultimately speaking about how our stories differed… I went to bed that night thinking about how interesting it is that despite (for the most part) having similar lists at Hillel, our stories are so much different. 

This past Sunday, the world lost nine people in a horrible tragedy. But one of these people was a legend. Kobe Bryant. This news hit close to home… literally. Kobe was from my town. He went to high school in my school district. Going to basketball games at Lower Merion High School was such a cool experience because as I sat in the Bryant gymnasium, I’d look around at the pictures on the wall and realize that a legendary player started his career in this gym. Although I don’t follow basketball and don’t have the same love for Kobe that so many others did, I can tell you this, my admiration for this man is extensive. He followed his dreams. He faced adversity head on to reach his goals. He never quit. He played with his entire heart. He was the master of writing his own story. 

So as I think about the loss of two legends, both Kobe and my grandmother, I am trying to process what this means other than just being sad. What lessons should I take from this? Both were two hardworking, dedicated, passionate, loving, human beings with such purpose and drive. I should use that to inspire me. So that’s exactly what I’m doing. 

Architecture. It fascinates me more than I can explain. I was in Berlin and I swear it was love at first sight. I’d look around and admire the gorgeous buildings, my mouth wide open… someone designed that! How cool?! Traveling opened up my eyes and made me realize that I wanted to be an architect. So I called my advisor and enrolled in architecture classes for the spring semester (now). But let me tell ya, I had no idea how hard it would be. I have never worked so hard in my life only to feel like I’m barely getting by. There have been so many late nights in the studio planning, learning software, and building. Just when I begin to understand one thing, my professor switches it up and loses me completely. It has felt like a never-ending game of catch up that has overwhelmed me so much. 

I spoke to my academic advisor and my dad (who, by the way, happens to have really good advice) and processed my feelings towards school with them. My advisor pushed me to drop a class, but I was very hesitant at first. I spent many nights feeling conflicted: if I dropped a class would I be a slacker? Will I regret this later? I know I’m up late every night working, and am not getting much sleep, but isn’t that what college is all about? 

I reasoned with myself and decided to drop a class. It was the right choice. And I know that because this week I actually felt like I could breathe. I’ve been able to do other things then my work and it’s felt so good. When I was in the studio, even at times for 6 hour periods, I felt empowered and dedicated. I’m not a slacker, I’m reasonable. And I needed to reevaluate my life and my goals for this semester in order to see that. 

Today I had a huge model and digital sketch due. We were having a class critique in which our professor (who by the way is a no-joke, brutally honest, architect, from Argentina) and classmates would evaluate the models each student-built. We had to present our design. I was presenting third. There were two students ahead of me and my professor ripped their designs to shreds, shaking his head in disapproval. I was so scared! I was proud of my work and I was nervous he wasn’t going to like it. I presented, confidently outlining my intentions, thematic elements, and how my space would be used. He paused. And then he began with, “I like…” He continued to start his sentences that way. He praised my model, adding some slight critiques for revision. He then went on to other students and used my model as an example. I felt proud. It made all of the sleep deprivation, tears, and foam core covered clothes totally worth it!

I’m slowly but surely writing my story. The person I want to become is a product of all of the lessons I’m learning right now. So even though some lessons are hard to learn, I’m embracing them all as moments to grow. My story is evolving as I learn more about myself and the goals I have for the trajectory of my life, but one thing’s for sure. I have the most fabulous support system in the entire world. My friends and family keep me sane. 

I am currently on a plane to Florida. My parents are visiting friends and I’m about to surprise them. It’s gonna be CRAZY! I can’t explain how excited I am to be with them. They are such an important part of my story. 

So, whether it’s Kobe Bryant, my sweet Bubby, or a young, curious college girl (me), we each have the opportunities to write our own stories and fill them with people and experiences that make our heart happy. We learn from the things that are hard and we fondly remember the ones that made us smile. How big is my story? Well, that’s a good question, Danny. Let me get back to you as I continue to write this next chapter.