WTF, ACCD?!? My Future Crashed, So I Bought an Open Ticket.
Anxiety, Financial Aid Fails, and the Best Bad Decision I Ever Made
I was on cloud nine—another pivotal moment in my life, my dreams and goals were becoming a reality. I was walking on air for the next few weeks, basking in the glow of the future I had so carefully constructed. I had done it. I had won at life.
Then, two weeks after my admission letter arrived, another letter followed. This one explained that my financial aid paperwork had been royally screwed up, and my funding would not be ready for the upcoming school term.
WTF.
Panic set in immediately. The negative voices in my head went from background static to full-blown, surround-sound doomsday sirens. I had made a few trips to the school during the submission process, gotten to know the admissions person, even built a rapport with the woman in the financial aid office. I had moved out of my place, was living with my stepmother for a few months before school started—to save money—because I was being responsible. And now this?
FUCK.
I called the school. I called admissions. I called financial aid. I called everyone. I begged. I bargained. I attempted my most charming, desperate, borderline unhinged persuasion tactics. It did not look promising. My charm wasn’t going to get me out of this one.
FUCK.
FUCK!
I needed to move. Immediately. Sitting still was not an option. I decided to go for a hike in the fire roads in the mountains behind Santa Barbara. I usually found solace and clarity when I hiked—the scent of sage bushes and eucalyptus trees brought fresh air and perspective. But my head was spinning the entire drive. I thought I had it all figured out. I had seenmy future, and it was bright and shiny and ready for me. And now? Now, it was slipping through my fingers because some nameless bureaucratic drone had fucked up the paperwork.
FUCK.
The moment I parked the car and my foot hit the ground, I started running. Not walking. Not a light jog. Full. Fucking. Sprint.
I’m not a runner—not for sport. But I am a runner. A runner from my emotions, and in that sport, I am an Olympic gold medal motherfucker. A girlfriend would leave an extra toothbrush or a bottle of contact solution at my place? I was out. This is not happening. RUN.
I ran like I had never run before. The southern California sun blazed on the dirt path, the Pacific Ocean shimmered off to the side, and I just kept running, like I could somehow outrun the absolute bullshit that was my current reality.
What the fuck am I going to do?
And then—an answer. A lifeline. A sliver of hope.
The next day, I called the school. Remember, this was before emails and cell phones. Maybe even before the Internet. (Okay, fine, there was Hotmail and Yahoo, but still—dark ages.)
We proposed a deal: since the error was on their part, they would fix my financial aid issue and keep a spot open for me when the new term started—or whenever I wanted to return. My financial aid and admission would be reserved. My idea worked.
HOLY SHIT.
At that point in my life, I had two goals: go to film school and go to Japan.
I had recently returned from a trip to Wisconsin to see my grandparents. My good friend P was there too—she had just gotten back from living in Japan, and one of her friends from Japan was visiting her in Wisconsin. That friend—MO—became a good friend of mine. We still talk. We just chatted this morning.
I called TO, who was now living in a small prefecture outside of Mount Fuji, and asked if I could come visit for a week. I got ahold of MO and told him I was heading to Japan soon—hopefully, we could hang out.
P gave me a list of names and numbers of people in Tokyo who could help me find a place to live and a quick-and-easy job to make some money.
I had $1,800 to my name and a credit card to purchase an open round-trip ticket to Japan.
Konnichiwa, bitches—I was going to Japan.
We finally are going to make out of SB and let the swashbuckling adventures begin.
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LOVE & LIGHT
MM