Year in Review: 2024 to 2025
I usually begin my year in review with a core metaphor, something involving the ocean or sailing, that I can use to weave together the good and the bad and call it growth. But this is not a year that can be spun. It was a year of loss, and that is all it can ever be called.
Last June, my grandfather passed away. His health had been in decline for a long time, and in the end, it was his choice to end on a week of freedom rather than another year of doctors. The family hoped that my grandmother, his ever-present caretaker, would be able to return to a semblance of normalcy, to travel, to rest. But less than a year later, in April, while my girlfriend and I were on spring break, my mother called to say that my grandmother had joined him. Their passing, more than the calendar, marks the true beginning and end of this year. A year that, in its first week, also saw the passing of our family dog and the start of a grueling semester of classes.
I believe, firmly, that if you are not failing, then you are not taking enough risks. But for all the preaching about the benefits of failure, it does nothing to dull the sting. I secured a co-op for the fall, which was going fantastically until I was informed they wouldn’t be able to have me back for any subsequent semesters. My flagship NIS project went bottoms up. And when I traveled to my namesake university to compete in a competition months in the making, we returned empty-handed. It was then, in the doldrums of winter, returning from Yale University for another semester of classes, that the idea of the “year of loss” began to worm its way into my brain like a parasite. A nasty way of looking at things, really, the mentality of someone who has given up.
But I have since left the year of loss behind, to reap the seeds that had lain dormant during the long winter. Life moves on. People keep living. The next challenge awaits.
So what about my honors experiences? Isn’t this an honors review? In fact, though I didn’t realize it until I sat down to write this, I completed more honors experiences this year than any other: three. There were plenty of beautiful things that happened this year, it’s just that they were more the exception than the rule.
In the summer, I participated in Tales of Resilience, a Dungeons & Dragons campaign custom-built around themes of mental health and class disparity. My character, the rule-loving, hobgoblin book-nerd Milo Slugsnatch, was in many ways a living reflection of myself. I enjoyed the experience so much that I signed up for another honors experience to train to lead my own section. Over the summer, I also planned, guided, and participated in the first-ever NIS Leader Development Pathway, or the “sandbox,” of sorts.
Next year, I hope we’ll be back to the metaphors, probably “the year of the phoenix” or something like that. But sometimes your wounds need to be licked before they can heal. Sometimes you need to use your honors portfolio as a diary. And sometimes, you need to call things what they are: just bad. Because bad things get better. That’s what they do. And that’s held true for me.
This summer, I begin a new co-op, not with 84.51°, but with their parent company, Kroger. I’m guiding a new cohort of students through the NIS sandbox and preparing to lead my own section of Tales of Resilience. A big, better, brighter future is already here.
Last June, my grandfather passed away. His health had been in decline for a long time, and in the end, it was his choice to end on a week of freedom rather than another year of doctors. The family hoped that my grandmother, his ever-present caretaker, would be able to return to a semblance of normalcy, to travel, to rest. But less than a year later, in April, while my girlfriend and I were on spring break, my mother called to say that my grandmother had joined him. Their passing, more than the calendar, marks the true beginning and end of this year. A year that, in its first week, also saw the passing of our family dog and the start of a grueling semester of classes.
I believe, firmly, that if you are not failing, then you are not taking enough risks. But for all the preaching about the benefits of failure, it does nothing to dull the sting. I secured a co-op for the fall, which was going fantastically until I was informed they wouldn’t be able to have me back for any subsequent semesters. My flagship NIS project went bottoms up. And when I traveled to my namesake university to compete in a competition months in the making, we returned empty-handed. It was then, in the doldrums of winter, returning from Yale University for another semester of classes, that the idea of the “year of loss” began to worm its way into my brain like a parasite. A nasty way of looking at things, really, the mentality of someone who has given up.
But I have since left the year of loss behind, to reap the seeds that had lain dormant during the long winter. Life moves on. People keep living. The next challenge awaits.
So what about my honors experiences? Isn’t this an honors review? In fact, though I didn’t realize it until I sat down to write this, I completed more honors experiences this year than any other: three. There were plenty of beautiful things that happened this year, it’s just that they were more the exception than the rule.
In the summer, I participated in Tales of Resilience, a Dungeons & Dragons campaign custom-built around themes of mental health and class disparity. My character, the rule-loving, hobgoblin book-nerd Milo Slugsnatch, was in many ways a living reflection of myself. I enjoyed the experience so much that I signed up for another honors experience to train to lead my own section. Over the summer, I also planned, guided, and participated in the first-ever NIS Leader Development Pathway, or the “sandbox,” of sorts.
Next year, I hope we’ll be back to the metaphors, probably “the year of the phoenix” or something like that. But sometimes your wounds need to be licked before they can heal. Sometimes you need to use your honors portfolio as a diary. And sometimes, you need to call things what they are: just bad. Because bad things get better. That’s what they do. And that’s held true for me.
This summer, I begin a new co-op, not with 84.51°, but with their parent company, Kroger. I’m guiding a new cohort of students through the NIS sandbox and preparing to lead my own section of Tales of Resilience. A big, better, brighter future is already here.