June 26, 2012 by Katie Fottrell
So I’m writing this blog and thinking to myself, “What in the world am I going to say?” I mean, I’d like to say I have some strict guidelines to adhere to, some sort of chart to tell me what to say. But there isn’t. And when I first found out, I couldn’t believe it. When I was told I would be blogging, the natural follow-up question was: about what? And here’s what went down:
“Write whatever you want.”
(insert shocked expression here) “Seriously, whatever I want?”
(insert wary expression here, with underlying tones of hesitation at giving Katie a blog) “Well, considering it’s a W&M blog, let’s keep it loosely, tangentially related to the College.”
But really. That’s it. As far as parameters go, I’m about as confined as a lone tuna in the Pacific Ocean—I’ve got some freedom. Write whatever you want, but don’t forget about the College. At first, to say the least, I was a little overwhelmed: what would I say? There’s nothing in my daily life that I would consider meaningful as far as its importance in the lives of others. Who cares if I had a PB&J on my lunch break today to treat myself instead of the go-to turkey and cheese? Who cares if I cut it in triangles like my mom used to just because that’s what makes it taste better? But when I sat back and took a second to really think about the expansive guidelines of my blogging, I realized that that’s kind of how my life here at W&M has been.
Now stick with me for a second.
The College has given me so many opportunities to explore any and every subject I could be possibly interested in—whether it be sports, community service, literature or languages, someone has always been there to help me out. I feel like the attitude has always been “Do what you love, whatever that is, and we’ll find a way to get you there.” Seriously. There’s always someone (who 9 times out of 10 is an expert in their field) who can tell you exactly how to work towards your goal or who knows the answers to questions that have nagged you for years. Faculty, staff, students—everyone is invested in helping each other out. And, I guess in the end, I have this mental picture of myself, going off into the great unknown with good old W&M sending me off (having given me the map and packed my bags with the tools I’ll need) saying, “Don’t forget about me,” as I fade away in the distance. A very poetic notion, I’m aware, but that’s how I see it. The College wants me to do whatever I want to do (even if it’s deciding to cut my PB&Js into triangles like a fourth grader), never telling me I can’t or I shouldn’t, and I think that’s pretty amazing. Don’t you?