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Titles, Power and Pelf: Applying to the College Honors Program

Recently, I was in a meeting with a professor whom I had asked to write a recommendation for me to the College Honors program. Over the course of the meeting, he asked me what to most, probably is a very simple question: “what should I tell the application committee about you?”. My mind, naturally, went blank, and I could not think of a single redeeming quality about myself.

The question still on my mind hours later, I set about writing a proper answer back to him. What could I say to sum up myself in a single phrase? What would convey the most important qualities of myself that would convince a panel that I am worth the instruction and attention that, if selected, I would receive?

This is what I said:

“My greatest ambition is to be like my father. Like me, he has an impressive list of qualifications and talents. He has a master’s degree, prays a rosary every day, and has a vocabulary of half the dictionary. He has read every piece Charles Dickens ever wrote, can name the composer of a classical piece just by listening, and includes footnote references in his letters. If ever there was a man of many talents, it is him. All of that certainly is good, but it has nothing to do with why I want to be like him.

He works three jobs. One at an office park, another in the tech department of the local library, and the third at the Kroger deli department. One during the day, two at night. For a qualified, intelligent man, there is seemingly no reason why he could not simply work one, better-paid position. Instead, I’ve watched every week for years as he wakes up before the sun is up, goes to work, comes home, changes into another uniform, and heads back out, not returning until 10pm. I have watched him come home exhausted, dirty, hungry. I’ve watched him stay in the car picking me up from things because he didn’t want to embarrass me in front of my high school friends wearing a grocery store uniform.

Why? He does all of this just so that he can be there for my family. He was there at every school play and musical, every concert, ever equestrian meet. He was there to hold my mother’s hand through cancer treatment and around to take me to the city pool in the summer.

I could never be embarrassed of a man like that. Like I said, my greatest ambition is to be like him. All the education in the world would mean nothing if I cannot at the end of the day recount what I have done for another person, whether that be listening to their story or cleaning the floors. None of what I do here will matter if my friends and family cannot say that I was there to tell them that I love them and am proud of them (as he reminds me, at the beginning of every letter he writes).

My father does not see the world in terms of what he is owed and what he or anyone else deserves. He simply sees what needs to be done, sees what others need, and does it. Hopefully, the result of my education will be the same: that I will be able to see better, and that I will be better able to just get it done.

So, my point in all this is that I have no interest in remaining in an ivory tower. If there is no task or person below my father, then there is nothing beneath me, either. Dickens, as my father quoted to me, said it best: “No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of another.”

I will accept any other insult, but I pray that I am never useless. I love my education dearly, but I am fully aware that this is merely the training for something far more important (and I do not mean money, thankfully).”

I won’t know until November if I was chosen for the honors program. In the meantime, I’ll content myself by knowing that every day, in every work shift and class and meeting, I come closer to achieving my greatest ambition. Who could not be content with that?

*The title of this blog is a reference to Sir Walter Scott’s poem, “Breathes there the Man,” which claims that the man who has everything (titles, power and pelf) still dies twice, body and soul, if he lacks connection to others and his homeland.*
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A Letter to Holy Cross

Dear Holy Cross,

The simplest way to say this is that I am not the person that I was a year ago, because of you. When I packed a van (very) full of stuff and pulled out of my little Dearborn driveway, I thought I knew what it was going to be like here. I had everything planned; I thought I knew exactly what I was going to do, who I was going to be. Really, I had no idea.

Nothing could have prepared me for the joy, love and care from the students, the professors, and the faculty that would envelop me. My joyful and fantastical daydreams of college friends and parties pale in comparison to the genuine community that found me, loved me, and accepted me here. I am leaving this year a far better person than when I came, and I can only credit that to the people around me this past semester – the people who welcomed me to the hill, accepted me without question, and showed me what it looks like when you love and serve unconditionally.

My first post on this blog was a reflection on how I ended up here – specifically, that, without the hand of Christ, which coincidentally stands tall on the steps of Dinand every day to remind me of that reality – I would have never even known about this college, let alone chose to come here. I think it’s fitting then, to tell how that same hand has shaped my year here, in ways I could never have imagined.

I met the person that would introduce me to my closest friends on an afternoon Kimball shift – a shift that, had my computer not crashed while I was signing up for shifts, I never would have chosen. Over a break on our first shift of the semester, he invited me to a Students for Life meeting. I brushed off the invitation, not planning to go, but the night of the meeting, he saw me in Kimball, eating dinner with my friends, and invited me again. Still not planning on going, I once again brushed him off. Walking up the hill, though, I passed him again, this time right outside the meeting place. Without an escape, I conceded and went to the meeting with him. The people in that room would, within weeks, become my best friends.

One meeting turned into two, then three, and meetings turned into dinners, then study sessions, evening rosaries, daily masses, Thursday night adoration and Saturday evening movie nights. My professors introduced me to ideas that I am sure will form the basis of my vocation in the future, and my friends taught me to grow and evolve, somewhere along the way becoming a better version of myself than I ever thought would exist.

To sum it all up, a year ago, I had no idea what to expect coming here, and would sit daydreaming of what life might be like in the future. Now, I have an answer: life is good.

The next time I write will most likely be from Warsaw, Poland, where I’ll be studying on a Maymester. See you there 😊.
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The Little Things

My Dad’s favorite author is the infamous Charles Dickens, and because of that, I was introduced to his acerbic writing from a young age. One of the quotes most memorable to me from our (often lengthy) discussions was this, found in Our Mutual Friend: “No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of it for anyone else.” Although this pithy quote has made its way onto bumper stickers, banners, and inspirational posters (much like Tolkien’s famous, “not all who wander are lost”), it has also taken up permanent residence in the back of my mind.

Navigating these past few weeks, this line has come up for me too many times to be completely ignored. So far, I have had two interviews: the first for the position of Kimball captain, a leadership role in the kitchen, and the second for a new role on campus as a Peer Wellness Coach. Preparing for the interviews, and specifically the age-old question, “why this job?,” I found myself coming back to the same conclusion, despite the two roles being wholly unrelated (it would take a better philosopher than me to find connection between dirty dishes and personal well-being): why, if given the opportunity and the capacity to make another persons’ life a little easier, would I not do it?

As all of campus looks forward to spring break, and quite a few of us prepare to ship out to our Spring Break Immersion (SBIP) sites (for me, Ivanhoe, VA), that question has challenged me to re-evaluate my daily life and how I interact with my environment. The premise of SBIP is that, although entering a community for a week will likely have no long-term impact or incite any sort of meaningful long-term change, it is worth it to go, simply to alleviate those burdens as best we can for the time being. Simply, some help is better than none.

This reflection, rather timely for the Lenten season, has motivated me to change my outlook on my daily life here on campus, shifting my focus from myself and my (quite extensive!) list of problems and to instead asking, “how can I lighten someone’s burden today?”. Holding a door, a smile, staying an extra few minutes after my shift or a simple “how are you doing?” undoubtedly will not fix any significant problem, nor will it have much effect on the community at large. Yet, I would argue that those things are far more important than anything else I will accomplish on a daily basis, simply because they might lighten another’s burden by the tiniest fraction. After all, I would much rather be insignificant than useless!

In the spirit of appreciating the little things in life, I’ve attached a few pictures of some happy little moments over the last few weeks:

valentine’s flowers from my parents!
an early sunday morning in a comfy chair!
finding out my friend and I owned the same funky socks!
listening to the organ in the choir loft for my music theory class!
feeling official with my SGA nameplate:)
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Snow Place like Home!

These last few weeks have been filled with some lovely memories that I’m excited to share with you on here!

my new little friend!

First, to celebrate the arrival of the cold weather, and to take the stress off of our impending finals, the college hosted a winter festival, with mug-making, build-a-bears, and of course, lots of hot cocoa for all! Mine new friend still needs a name, though — if anyone has ideas, let me know!

my new decorations!

 

 

Second, my mom sent me some Christmas lights to decorate my dorm — it may have turned into a full-blown room remodel session, but I loved the end result!

Third, the hill saw its first snowstorm of the season! Most of it happened while I was in a review session for my calc class, but when I got out, campus had turned into a winter wonderland! Unfortunately, I had gone to that review session in my crocs, and I had to trek back to my dorm, brooks hall,  in them and all the snow!

The views walking during that snowstorm were absolutely beautiful — a lovely reminder of why I chose Holy Cross in the first place. The first time I saw Worcester, and more specifically HC, in person was a dreary, cold and cloudy day in March. I was already nervous about moving to New England, but seeing the landscape look like something out of a Bronte novel definitely made me question my choice. It took me until the morning, seeing the hill in the sun (and my dad’s reassurance) to convince me that campus was every bit as beautiful as I had expected. Thinking back on that day, I was silly to worry. Clearly, HC is just as beautiful and the dark and cold as it is in the sun! 

Hogan in the snow!

 

 
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8 assignments, 7 rehearsals, 6 work shifts, 5 class days left!

The campus has certainly been buzzing with excitement and anticipation as we move into our final week of classes here on the hill. The music department has been as busy as ever, with several concerts last week,  and the iconic lessons and carols coming up this week! Personally, I performed in our chamber music recital, and soon will participate in the end of the semester student concert, and lessons and carols with the orchestra, which will take place in  Brooks Concert Hall  and St. Joseph Chapel respectively.

One of my final assignments for my Montserrat seminar, entitled “The Theology of Making,” is to tell a five-minute Moth-style  story about something we made. I chose to tell mine about a decision I made — the decision to study music.

I started taking violin lessons when I was 4 years old, so music had always been a part of my life. However, complaining about music had also always been a part of my life. I typically spent more time figuring out how to get out of going to my lesson that week than actually practicing.

It’s no surprise then, that one day, when I was around 10 years old, before my lesson that week, my mom and I sat in the parking lot of the music store, where we were buying new strings and music. While she scrolled on her phone, I watched as a girl with a cello case — big and colorful, unlike my boring, black cloth violin case — stride into the store.

I thought that her case, and that she had an instrument that was as big as her was the coolest thing ever, and without thinking, I said, “I think playing the cello would be fun.”

The problem was, my mom thought I was serious. She turned and asked me if I wanted to play one. Ever the little schemer, I said “sure, why not?–” I was hoping that we’d go back in the store, waste some time, and maybe even forget about my violin lesson.

With no other planning on my part, suddenly I was back the music shop, trying out cellos. Then were driving to my first lesson. When my new teacher asked me why I wanted to play cello — after all, I had been playing violin for years — I just told them I liked the sound. I figured saying that I didn’t, and that it was all a big misunderstanding was a little too honest.

What happened next occurred so gradually that I didn’t even notice it was happening — like when you see a few snowflakes falling, and then you wake up to half a foot of snow the next morning.

When it came time for audition season that year, my parents encouraged me to try out for orchestras on violin and cello — they figured that I would be placed in a higher orchestra on violin, but that the audition would give me some good practice on cello.

To our surprise, when the audition results came back, I was placed in the same level orchestra on both instruments — I had made the same amount of progress on cello in 2 years that I had made on violin in 6.

That year, I played in orchestra on cello, eventually quitting violin altogether.

Finally, in December 2019, my conductor invited the front chairs of each section in the orchestra to play in a special nutcracker pit orchestra, accompanying the local ballet theatre in their winter production. I hesitantly said yes, and he made me the principal cellist, first chair.

Although covid put orchestra, chamber music, and competitions on pause the next year, I kept recording performances, and practicing — after all, what else could I do?

The next year we did nutcracker was 2021. I was made the principal cellist again, and this time, I couldn’t wait. I had become best friends with my stand partner in orchestra, and we talked every day. I looked forward to our rehearsals every night, watching the music slowly come together. I couldn’t wait to hear the cheering from the audience again, to look up from the orchestra pit at the dancers.

It took until halfway through our last performance to realize that I wouldn’t be coming back. It was my last time with that beloved music, that conductor, and those late-night rehearsals. It was my last time putting a Santa hat on my cello, and sightreading duets with my stand partner during the intermission.

I had promised myself and everyone around me that I would never study music, but in that moment, I knew that I didn’t want that performance to be my last. I knew that despite every vow and promise to the contrary, I had fallen in love with the cello — I had fallen in love with the blisters on my fingers from the strings and the rosin marks on my pants, with the hours of long rehearsals and with the constant critique and struggle to play better.

Much like my coming here, one of the largest sources of joy and meaning in my life came about completely by accident. If that isn’t something to be grateful for this Advent season, I’m not sure what is!