Let us reminisce on last Monday’s experience.
The sound of the lethal, rattling alarm threw me awake at precisely 5:52 AM. Major OCD kicks into my brain when it comes to my regular, daily routine. I operate solely off of a tight schedule; theoretically, everything should work perfectly. If I wake up at 5:52 AM every morning, that leaves me 3 minutes to wake up, 5 minutes to get dressed, 20 minutes to beautify myself, (which is essential for my health, I might add) and 10 minutes for miscellaneous activity/ breakfast. By the time I am ready to go, it is approximately 6:30 AM (and thirty seconds.) At that time, I depart from my house to the bus stop, where the bus and I meet exactly at the same time on the corner of South Shore Drive. Me? Late? Horrific. Unimaginable.
But unfortunately, I was experiencing your stereotypical Monday. After my alarm shook me awake, my eyes anchored together like magnets; no amount of force could pry them open. My muscles were limp and relaxed as I lay in my cloud-like bed. (My bed is actually the equivalent to a pile of nails. My unstoppable desire to sleep turned the nails into a blissful heaven.) My mind fluttered asleep for a critical seven minutes. Who knew 420 seconds could cause a day of chaos? Side note: I discovered my left boot is a professional hider in the game of Hide N Seek. After a series of anarchic events, I left at 6:31- thirty seconds behind schedule. Only 50% awake and 100% stressed, I sprinted through my neighborhood to the bus stop. Yes- I was that girl. I sincerely apologize to the other un-licensed MHS students who couldn’t shield their eyes to prevent them from witnessing my idiotic, clumsy galloping. Might I add- it is nearly impossible for a person to sleep run with a backpack stuffed with textbooks, coffee, and boots which aren’t broken in, in the 6:31 AM chilly darkness. Correction: it’s nearly impossible to do that with style.
Once I arrived at school, I felt as if I was a dog trapped in a cage for hours, upon hours, upon hours. My venture through the day was like a everlasting journey on a thin tightrope. Luckily for me, the misery eventually came to a close.
Doing what you love is the world’s best therapy. In my case, I cheer. Practicing was only the beginning to the rainbow peeking through the storm. Following practice, I coached. Little did I realize, this one hour weekly coaching session could be a regular burst of inspiration. An aspiring 6th grade cheerleader with light in her eyes came across my path. She reminds me a lot of a miniature version of myself; persistent minded with an innocent heart. Her wildest hopes and dreams were to be an MMS cheerleader. So, I offered to help her.
When I was her age, I looked to the high school cheerleaders as goddesses. They were everything I hoped and dreamed to be. I vividly remember back to the autumn of 2010, my sister’s junior year as an MHS cheerleader, when I would idolize her under the Friday Night Lights hoping that I would be in her spot someday. In attempt to reach my hopes and dreams, I would do my best to act like her, talk like her, dress like her, etc.
Looking back through my sixth grade eyes which saw the pure perfection of the high school cheerleaders, would I have seen them as pessimists? Most certainly not. I processed a million thoughts and ideas in my head over a matter of a few seconds. Now, I’m the high school cheerleader, and there are little girls who look up to us and want to become us. It’s very important to live up to what those little cheerleaders see MHS cheerleaders as. There are always going to be people who, someday, aspire to be like you.
Don’t disappoint them.