Before I wanted to enter the public relations or journalism world I wanted to be a teacher. Specifically, I wanted to teach elementary school because that is when I started to actually enjoy learning and remember reading books by flashlight after I was supposed to be asleep. Up until high school I would picture myself standing at an overhead projector teaching cursive (that sounds so outdated now) or helping kids sound out words whenever someone asked me what I wanted to do. I don’t know what made me switch to the communications world along my way but I did and I ended up with my double concentration at Saint Rose.
After my first semester I can say that I was happy in my studies but felt like I was missing something, that desire to help people wasn’t being met. I started to see what other ways I could get involved, teach people about things, and try to make a positive impact in people’s lives. Yes, at the time I was volunteering with refugee students at a nearby after school program, but I wanted something more. This lead me to applying to be a resident assistant and three years later I can say it was one of the best choices of my college career.
Like any RA, I will admit that I get bogged down or stressed about the job from time to time but it is the relationships that are created with residents that make it all worth it. It is those people that make missing parties, staying up way past our bed times, or having to carry forgotten mini fridges down flights of stairs that make it worth it. It is those people that I will remember playing parking lot tennis with when I am older and reflecting on college. I will remember the prank wars more than I will remember making bulletin boards. I will laugh about the times I had to playfully scold people about playing “hallway sports” or to go play their guitars somewhere other than right outside of my door rather than remember the staff meeting that ran late. I will remember the times I had to educate my girls on Lima 4 about “shower mammals” more than I will remember the times they got locked out at 3am.
No matter how bad of a day I was having there were always those residents that would show up in my room and make me smile. These residents were the ones that helped me with my bowling assignment for sports journalism, the ones that would yell my name across the quad after I had the longest day ever, and most importantly the ones that made me feel needed but not used. They were the ones that did not know I needed them as much as they needed me.
It is these memories that serve as evidence as to why I gave three years of my life, what are supposed to be the best, to serve as an encyclopedia of Saint Rose knowledge, a glorified hall monitor, and a kinda-sorta-therapist.