One of the most poignant, sustained memories of my childhood took place in 2004 when I was in the fourth grade. One particular school night after dinner, my parents and I were discussing my birth. My dad remarked that, the day I was born, he did the mental math to calculate that I would graduate college in 2018 at 21 years old. The thought, to my fourth grade mind, of a date 14 years in the future, seemed so distant that it was impossible it could ever be a reality. I’m sure my parents would both agree emphatically that the same perspective was true for them after this realization in 1996.
But from that moment on, 2018 was burned into my psyche. This year existed in a fog of unknown circumstances that made it nearly impossible to draw any clear image of what this time would resemble. As I progressed through grade and high school, it remained just as ambiguous and, at times, daunting.
High school, for me, was not a pleasant experience. I do not have particularly fond memories of the person I was during that time. My mental health was in tatters and my anxiety made me withdrawn, lonely and fearful of the future. Worry was my main extracurricular involvement and kept me perpetually busy and nervous.
As my spirit struggled, 2018 became more and more illusive. I focused instead on what I could handle — surviving just one more day or to the end of the week — without revealing my inner turmoil to anyone. In hindsight, the pressure I placed on myself compounded the negativity and brought it to a boil.
Suddenly, without warning, it was 2014.
My drive abruptly awoke when I graduated high school. I realized, somewhat brutally, how much I had missed due to my poor mental health. I was shocked at how little those around me really seemed to know about me, and the disturbing reality was that they only knew what I had allowed them to see. I vowed to better myself in my next chapter.
2018 began to come into focus with my enrollment at The University of Alabama. I knew where I would be graduating and the degrees I would earn. I leaned into my campus and the people around me. I utilized my own narrative as a platform to develop myself as a leader through the National Alliance on Mental Illness and assisted my peers in similar journeys dealing with their mental health. I watched as the groups and spaces I was blessed to be a part of actively worked to change the culture of our campus during this short time here. These experiences provided me with the greatest lesson I am gleaning from The Capstone: the power of intention.
At risk of sounding like a discount Oprah, intention is the most provoking and motivating attribute that exists within every person. Living a life of intention aligns one with purpose and promotes personal growth. It creates a healthier self and challenges a person to consistently “do better.”
For me — intention manifested when I started to consistently interrogate myself. Why am I doing
The treasure of the collegiate experience is that everyone is learning. College students, at least the ones who surround me, are acutely aware of the fact that no one person knows everything. We are consistently seeking advisement. We’ve all made different mistakes and learned differently from them. We all have unique experiences, backgrounds and perspective that, when combined, open our eyes to new ideas.
My own, personal growth would be impossible without the people who taught me some lessons along the way. To them, I’m eternally grateful.
2018 is no longer ambiguous or foggy. Graduation is nevertheless a bit intimidating, but ultimately positive. There are new adventures and opportunities for each of us as we each move forward. The real education is just beginning.
Chase Pritchett is a senior majoring in marketing and American studies.
