My Farewell Address: A Warning to the Future President

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I wake up to the frantic buzzing of my alarm clock- set on my phone to the calming voice of John Mayer. Keeping one eye shut, I thrash my hand around until it makes contact with my phone. I clutch it with my weak it’s-too-early-for-this grip and hurry to hit snooze. After the short snooze period is over, I repeat this delirious task not once, not twice, but an average of 6 times until the entire time allotted for preparing myself for another day of composed presidency, has slipped through my hands. This now means that my original peaceful state has quickly turned to a mad dash out the door with one arm in its sleeve, my multitude of oversized luggage for the day slung over my arm, coffee sloshing over my half put together outfit and english muffin also lodged in the same hand. I take one look in the mirror to make sure I have at least some clothes on, sometimes checking if they are acceptable to wear in public, and throw my hair into a bun. 7/10 times I make it to the car with my careful balancing act, but those other times something falls and I spill coffee, grunt, wipe it up, and realize I’ve lost another minute of time.

 

(If) obeying NH state law, it takes 22 minutes exactly from my driveway to my parking spot at Bartsch. I set the cruise control to an undisclosed rate, because if not I tend to have a bit of an iron foot. A fateful event that occurs more than I would like to discuss goes as follows: I take a sip from my nalgene while simultaneously flying over the frost heaves (more like moguls) that are, in fact, the NH road system, only to have the bottle slip through my shaking, overly caffeinated hands and splash across my lap. I sit in a puddle of dirty liquid, finding myself questioning both my existence and if this is what it was like to sit in the kiddie pool on southside. I then make the long walk of shame to Weld, continuously confirming that “No, I did not pee my pants this morning, but thanks for asking.” After the first few weeks of the Bartsch renovations that have extremely increased safety in this area, I finally noticed the handicap sign in front of the parking space which I had been consistently occupying, and claimed as my own. I now park adjacent to this spot. If I don’t already look disheveled upon exiting my vehicle, I promise you I will be by the end of first block. Chances are I got about 5.5 hours of sleep the previous night, which explains the distant look of despair in my eyes. Some people say it’s more of a deer in the headlights kind of stare, others say I look plain lost at all times.

 

There was once a time when my life was not this way. Once upon a time, before Leadership Chapel, I had a wonderful, engaging life. I smiled at folks on the path, radiating happiness. Now I walk by laughing, possibly on the verge of hysteria. Ask me how I am? I’m not sure you really want to know.  The other morning I walked into chapel at 8:32, only to find that for the first time in Holderness history, everyone was in chapel on time, if not early.  Not me. I scurried to my sit attempting to avoid all eye-contact. In my spare time these days, I can be found running down hills, an activity that parallels my downward spiral For fun I enjoy answering emails, writing proposals and spreading the good news: character, community, and curiosity.

 

Those black circles under my eyes you might ask? Oh, those are just a natural look I’m going for. I call it delerious racoon. If you think for even a moment that I have my life together, you’re wrong. This afternoon I thought I’d sit down to check some emails — I got up 42 minutes later. Yesterday I spent an hour brainstorming fundraising ideas. The best I came up with was musical chairs or maybe a hoe-down. I knew I had hit rock bottom when I made a presentation composed solely of memes for a serious assembly, one concerning the future leaders of Holderness School. My favorite motto is fake it till you make it, and I’ll continue to do so, it’s gotten me this far.

 

I have come clean, so nothing can come between us. I know things might be awkward now, but at least I said it.  It’s all out there. I hope we can still be friends. Just know it’s me, not you.