Cycle of life

My sophomore year of college was supposed to be perfect. I was no longer figuring out the ropes of college, and I had integrated myself into the Miami University community. I had just been accepted into the Farmer School of Business, shockingly scheduled my classes four days before they began, and found myself stuck with 8 a.m. classes every day except Friday.

‍

The business school is a little more than a 20-minute trek from my apartment in Heritage Commons. My morning commute consists of walking through the midst of the sorority girls rushing to Starbucks, walking up the hill that leads to the Miami sundial that is backward and upside down, walking past Armstrong Student Center and down High Street.

‍

On the first day of classes, I woke up with small spots of dry blood layered onto my face and pillow, oblivious to the nosebleed during the night. It was a great way to start the day, running the pillow under cold water to find little progress in removing the stain. I didn’t have time to worry though, I urgently needed to leave for class.

‍

Considering the distance from my apartment to class, I rode my bike. My girlfriend told me that leaving at 7:55 a.m. would be enough time to make it to my 8:10 class, but I didn’t listen to her and left early.

‍

I was excited to start my first day of classes. A summer of never-ending requirements to transfer into the business school was finally paying off. I had initially applied to Miami as a business undeclared major, but I switched to journalism when I discovered my love of writing. Now, I am back where I would’ve been last year had I decided to be consistent (for once in my life).

‍

I went down three flights of stairs that morning and headed to the bike rack, only to find that my bike was gone. Reality didn’t hit me at first — I stood there, stunned and confused, hoping it would somehow reappear in front of me. But it didn’t. Deep down, I knew it had been stolen.

‍

And just like that, on the first day of sophomore year and business school, I was off to a horrible start.

‍

****

‍

My bike was given to me in high school as a senior year present. During my first year of college, I took it everywhere. Miami doesn’t allow most first-year students to have cars on campus, so having the bike was instrumental in running errands and getting across town.

‍

My first-year residence hall, Dennison Hall, was as far east as one can get on campus, situated near dense woods and hiking trails. I wouldn’t just use my bike to get to and from class; I’d also take it along the trails and explore the scenery.

‍

My bike saved me in many instances, whether I was waking up 10 minutes before class (a common occurrence) or on the days I needed to get my allergy shots across town (that’s another story). In my reporting, I needed my bike, like when Sam Norton, the Opinion and GreenHawks editor, had me go to Kramer Elementary School across town for an event. A 10-minute bike ride was preferable to a 40-minute walk.

‍

During my first year as a journalism major, I switched to the Farmer School of Business. I have always been a good writer, but I had a deep interest in investing and money-related topics. Writing for the Wall Street Journal or Barron’s was my dream.

‍

While I loved my journalism classes, I wanted hands-on experience in the business world rather than purely theoretical knowledge with a second major in economics. The goal was to be a business journalist or a stock analyst, combining my interests and talents.

‍

Switching my major to finance wasn’t easy, with all the requirements to transfer into the business school I needed to take business calculus over the summer, which slowed the process until late summer.

‍

When I finally met all the requirements, I was in a panic. While my other friends who had completed summer classes got their transcripts weeks before school started, I got mine only one week before. I was nervous I wouldn’t be able to transfer, leaving me stuck at square one.

‍

However, I applied and was accepted into the business school – what a relief! I got an appointment with my new academic advisor and scheduled classes four days before the semester started.

‍

I was left with limited options and forced to choose from classes no one wanted. I started by scheduling my First-Year Integrated Core, a collection of four classes that led to the notorious client challenge project required by all business students to complete.

‍

My section had one open seat left. Along with my other classes, my schedule ended up having 8 a.m. classes Monday through Thursday and classes ending at 6:25 p.m. on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Although my schedule sucked, I was determined to make this school year a good one.

‍

I was going into my sophomore year with a semester internship with the Oxford Free Press and my assistant editor position at The Miami Student (TMS), two jobs that required a decent time commitment.

‍

This was going to be a busy semester.

‍

****

‍

The first week of the school year, I was already swamped with work. The Oxford Free Press had me writing about the most random topics imaginable. My first story on the owners of a former fraternity house involved cold-calling this guy who kept throwing me in a loop. I wrote my first sports story featuring the Talawanda volleyball team (I didn’t even know how a set in volleyball worked).

‍

What I thought would be an internship reporting on business and other community events started off with some strange reporting. At TMS, I wrote several stories over the summer and one during the semester about Brian Niccol becoming Starbucks CEO, one of my favorite assignments. I proceeded to not write for a month afterward, completely swamped and having trouble adjusting to this new school year.

‍

I spent many late nights, staying up until 2:30 a.m., only to wake up five hours later, completely drained of energy for my classes. Monday through Wednesday felt like a sprint, with almost all of my internship work taking place during those days. At TMS, I also needed to prepare for bi-weekly print production, having stories edited and ready.

‍

Every Wednesday, I worked non-stop from 8 a.m. to 10 or 11 p.m. My story deadline at my internship was at 5 p.m. every Wednesday. Between my three classes that day, I had no time to waste. I’d be glued to the computer, writing and editing, getting as much done as humanly possible.

‍

After the 5 p.m. deadline, I would go to my Greenhawks section meeting, followed by TMS newspaper production, which would take several hours. I had to find time to do my work there and finish the assignments I had due that night. But it sure was a relief when it was all over.

‍

Some weeks were worse than others, but times got tough. My girlfriend started to notice a change in how I was acting: I was brusque, inattentive and wholly focused on my work to even find time to take care of myself. I was constantly stressed and felt exhausted from an unmanageable workload.

‍

Whenever I wanted to enjoy my weekend, hang out with friends or spend time with my family, I felt guilty. I knew I was putting off work and would regret my decision later. My mental health was on the back burner, and I was not putting my total effort into my schoolwork, leading to my first bad grades.

‍

Regardless, I still managed to get by. But that all changed when I thought I would have to resign from my job at TMS.

‍

While focused on my group projects and internship responsibilities, I mistakenly found myself neglecting my duties for TMS, which was partially my fault and partially a miscommunication between my superiors and me.

‍

As assistant editor, I am responsible for editing all stories in my section, helping writers, stepping in when necessary and taking on stories that need to be covered.

‍

Last year, I would make my edits on Monday and Tuesday before the senior editors would look at the stories, and I was perfectly fine with my deadlines. This year, they wanted assistants to have their edits in by Sunday each week, but I wasn’t aware of this.

‍

So, each week, I would be told that I didn’t have to make edits because the senior editors had already reviewed the stories.

‍

It was the day after my birthday when I was told that I needed to step up my game and start fulfilling my role as an assistant editor. I was heartbroken because I knew everything they were saying was true, but I felt helpless in the end.

‍

I thought I would have to resign from my job if I was going to manage this semester, and I didn’t want to do that. TMS has always been a great outlet for me to make new friends and pursue important stories that I love.

‍

After looking at all the colleges I applied to and checking out their newspapers, I knew TMS was the one I wanted to be a part of. I saw hard-hitting news, such as Jason Osborne's resignation scandal, which made me realize that the people in this organization were serious journalists.

‍

I looked up to many of the upperclassmen in the newsroom. I thought they were incredible and wanted to follow in their footsteps. When I was promoted to assistant editor in the second semester of my first year, mind you, for a section I hadn’t written for before, it felt incredible that these people I looked up to believed in me and wanted me to play a larger role in the paper.

‍

Letting that go would be detrimental, and I hated letting people down, but I knew if I couldn’t keep up with my responsibilities, I’d have no choice but to let it go.

‍

After meeting with my senior editors, we realized the miscommunication and discussed the circumstances leading to this issue. From then, I took a weekend to go home and escape the chaos of college. Since then, everything has gotten better.

‍

Although I still have lots of work, I meet all my deadlines, balance my obligations properly and have increased my grades. My predictions of utter catastrophe didn’t come true, and I’ve been much happier.

‍

Some other great news came when I was covering a story about national solar tours for my internship. That Sunday, I interviewed Carla Blackmar, an Oxford resident, about the solar panels on her roof. While we were talking, she mentioned she had a spare bike in her garage and, knowing my situation, would let me use the bike until I graduate.

‍

Finally, I’ve been able to get an extra 30 minutes of sleep and save tremendous time on transportation.

‍

The kindness of individuals is what’s gotten me through this rough patch in my life. Thanks to those like Carla and my girlfriend, along with the editors who gave me a chance to redeem myself, I have come out of this situation stronger.

‍

When times get tough, you can’t just give up and let it consume you. That’s exactly what I did when I let go of the thought of my bike getting stolen and started speed-walking to class.

‍

Despite the setback, I made it to class on time. The incident even made for a great icebreaker when I had to introduce myself to my business classmates 6,000 times over.

‍

Losing my bike taught me that things go wrong, but you have to keep moving forward. As I’ve faced other challenges this semester, I remember that first day. I could’ve stood there, mourning the loss of a $600 bike, but instead, I chose to start walking, focused on my destination and the path ahead. There was no time for self-pity.

‍

Despite everything, my first day of sophomore year turned out to be a good day. I made new connections and reconnected with old friends. Walking gave me more time to reflect and appreciate my surroundings in ways I couldn't when riding my bike.

‍

Although my stolen bike has taught me valuable lessons about resilience and setting priorities straight, I would still like it back.

‍