I remember the first time I came to St. Pete. I was 18 and eager to run away from home, so to speak. I was weird and awkward, and with my short hair and loose clothing, it was hard to fit in. I was with my dad on my tour and man was I excited. The sushi at the school cafe was my favorite part. I mean, who wouldn’t jump at the chance to eat sushi every single day? I couldn’t wait to start my new life that fall.
I would give everything to be able to talk to my younger self. I do not think I spent my college years in any way that would be frowned upon, but I can’t say there weren’t some things I wish I had done differently.
Me, my first week of Freshman year. Time really flies.
My first semester of college wasn’t hard in regards to class work, but socially it was trying. I really didn’t know where I belonged. I tried to be friends with people that kind of sucked, and being a sheltered kid, I didn’t really know different. I ended up floating through different social circles until I met one of my now best friends in psychology class. A petite, bubbly, curly-haired girl that won over everyone she met, she got me through a lot that year. We were fast friends and I stuck to her like glue. It was great to be welcomed, and I found a friend group that I actually wanted to be around, along with her.
My first piece of advice to myself would have been: Quit trying to pay so much attention and just let stuff happen. Life goes too fast, even when you don’t think it is.
I constantly had my head in the clouds; I referred to myself as a sort of “ditz” and so did other people. It made me feel extremely disappointed in myself. I finally was friends with the people I had wanted (for weeks) to be friends with, and then I couldn’t focus on more than one detail at a time? Come on. It was one of those times in my life where I felt like the blonde stereotype. I hated it so much, but also I couldn’t help it.
I missed a lot trying to absorb everything that was happening around me, and I really regret it because some of the people I enjoyed being around back then aren’t here anymore; they graduated, left or otherwise disappeared, and it’s not like I can have a do-over.
In the midst of my worrisome attention span, young Mari discovered the party scene at her school. Parties were my favorite part of college, hands down. I always told people that I would go to parties and do crazy, fun things because I wanted to have wild stories to tell my future kids. And I made stories happen.
Party invites would be sent out via Facebook and I would almost never get invited at first. Then by the end of the semester (to myself, notoriously), I would get invited to every single one. I marketed myself as wild and fun: the college girl of my dreams. I would pre-game with my friends (girls who turned into my best friends, even to this day), throw on whatever skimpy costumes we had put together during the week (because of course every party had a theme) and go to the parties (throwing away our sanities in one fell swoop because why not?).
I loved every second of it from the wild nights to the hangovers the next morning. It was the type of life I had always wanted for myself once I left home.
My second piece of advice to young Mari is this: the party isn’t everything. One day, it WILL just be a story, and then where will you be?
As I partied, my grades fell. School wasn’t my priority my freshman year, my social status was. It should have been the opposite, which I now know. I have worked hard these last two and a half years to bring my GPA up to the sparkling 3.2 it is now, and I am proud. But back then, I was happy to live by the “C’s get Degrees” rule of thumb and slide my way through college the easy way.
It unfortunately wasn’t important to me to figure out where I wanted my life to go in the coming years: “Why would I need to decide that now? I have four years…” Well little Mari, your time is nearly up and how long did it take you to decide?
I decided what I wanted to do with the rest of my life about six months ago during my first semester of senior year. I knew so much about my love for words, and yet I had still thought I wanted to be a teacher for my entirety of freshmen year. Don’t get me wrong, I have huge respect for education majors and teachers alike. But I saw the back end of the teaching degree, and it wasn’t palatable for me. It was so obvious, and yet I still struggled with what I really wanted: to write. It was only too obvious of a choice, so I overlooked it until the summer before my sophomore year, and that’s an entirely other story.
I was so young though, so how can I even blame myself?
The final piece of advice I would give my younger self is this: No one else is going to push you to do your best. Nobody knows your best except you. You have to push yourself.
I spent a lot of time during my freshman year waiting for someone to tell me I had to be better. I only got that from my math teacher honestly, and I stink at math so I wasn’t going to listen to her. Nor was I going to listen to my parents because it made too much sense. I was perfectly fine with coasting and it was toxic to me and my work.
Current photo of me (Photo courtesy of Kelli Carmack)
About 45 percent of the time I spent at parties would have been better spent with my nose in a book, or at a computer typing away at nothing while I thought. I would have seen what I wanted so much sooner. I would have known more about myself. I would have made fewer mistakes.
In truth, as much as I like giving advice, I probably wouldn’t have even accepted my own. I learn from experiences, and I made the best experiences for learning that I could have ever fathomed. I wouldn’t change it for the world.