I wish I heard this solid piece of advice prior to my post 2 A.M. endeavors. Granted, it probably wouldn't have made a difference, I'm sure I would have continued my strained attempts to enjoy my fleeting teenage years, but at least I would have realized that if nothing good has happened by 2 A.M., then nothing good will happen, unless I make the night, in the words of Barney Stinson, "legendary".
Can you imagine living in New York City, but venturing no further than three different destinations; home, school, and the bodega? By the age of sixteen, my mundane and routine-like years of only venturing to a bodega were gone, along with my literary provincialism as I became a fluorescent adolescent that read works of literature that challenged me.
My grit, persistence and obsession with novels like On The Road inspire my adventures to new parts on the East Coast the way Kerouac traveled around the country. With each trip, my childlike perceptions changed and I became more critical of the people around me the way Holden Caulfield was.
Granted, my paranoia of something bad happening made me seem like the narrator of "Tell-Tale Heart", but it goes to show how my love for literature also influences my understanding of the world.
My most memorable venture was to Atlantic City with my friend. The coordinator of the event, a much too big of a woman, failed to book our hotel room. To spare ourselves the embarrassment, we told none of the other performers. Instead, we slept under a table in the ballroom of the Trump Plaza --of all places to be comfortable, sleeping under a table with someone laying next to you would not be one of them.
We expected the night to get progressively better, but by 1 A.M. we were feeling like Edward Norton, a helpless insomniac. Enraged, I sought to ruin the venue. We stole the Kit-Kats, Doritos and M&M's that were set up for the venue, ate them and disposed of the wrappers on the floor as a sign of our anger.
Our satisfaction was only momentary, a janitor came in to organize the space for the following morning. While he cleaned up our evidence of rebellion towards the event coordinator, the man produced a drum-roll effect by farting, and he'll never know that I was under that table listening to every tooting sound he made.
Tired of sleeping with someone next to me and intoxicated by the lethal smell of farts, we left the ballroom. We decided that we weren't going to let the circumstances ruin the rest of our night. Riding the escalators, exploring the casinos, showering in the bathroom sink, watching the sunrise and running around the empty ballroom lead me to the realization that you have to take ownership of whatever happens to you.
These “legendary” moments make great memories, but if they revolve around farts, junk food, and struggling to find comfort, how legendary can they really be? But no matter how dismayed I feel in my endeavors, I've grown to embrace them. The more difficult the situation is, the more I grow and learn about the kind of people I like to be around, the kinds of habits I want to define my character and what stories I want as memories.
My goal is to be successful. I can imagine that going to college calls for many nights that include staying up past 2 A.M. and I know that I need to assume the responsibility as an undergraduate student and triumph over the small obstacles rather than becoming angry and stealing Kit-Kats.
These experiences have made me apprehend that; in order to be happy, you have to take ownership of every situation in order for them to be, in the words of Barney Stinson, "legendary".
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