The Ride to Grad School

After four long years of convincing myself that I would absolutely never go to school again, I decided to go to graduate school. And so I'm laying in bed, the night before orientation at American University, thinking about how I got here.

The ride wasn't easy, that's for sure. I was raised in Campton, a small town in northern New Hampshire that's just beyond the hills of civilization. We lived in a camper that Dad parked on "the land." The land was full of miscellaneous items: propane tanks, milk crates, broken fluorescent lights, and old generator parts. My brother and I would play in the junk for hours. Life was pretty good back then. I went to Campton Elementary and remember screaming and holding my breath when mom dropped me off for my first day of school. I hated being left places.

After that, we moved to Concord. I was sad for a little while but now realize that it was best for my academic future. I attended Broken Ground Elementary, Rundlett Middle School, Concord High School, and then moved to Massachusetts to attend Tabor Academy, an elite boarding school right on the water. I worked my way through high school and saved up enough money to move to South Carolina for my undergrad at USC. I took 21 credit hours a semester, worked three jobs and managed an active social life. I studied hard, never skipped a class and graduated Magna Cum Laude. I was the third person ever in my family to graduate college behind my cousin, Cheri, and my brother, Cameron.

I was accepted to American University shortly thereafter, and now I'm in D.C., networking with other political communication specialists and working toward a Master's degree.

Every once in a while I like to look back on the past and remember where I came from. Hopefully I'll be able to get some sleep tonight before orientation tomorrow, and stop this little head from thinking so much. The rise to the top isn't easy, but it's worth it.