What Would Peter Do?

“Nothing can bring you peace but yourself” (Emerson 38).

            Everyone told me that decisions are made with pro/con lists, by ‘sleeping on it,’ or by talking it over with family and friends. Important decisions, ones that will change the course of your life, require much thought. I made a decision to leave the comfort of home, well-formed friendships, my course of college study, and the sister-like camaraderie of my teammates; I made the decision to transfer colleges last year, and I began my academic career at Otterbein exactly one academic year ago during winter quarter of 2010. The decision was something to be taken seriously. And it was. But for me, the decision came in one blunt, piercing moment: the news of a death of a friend. Just like Jacqlyn said in our group work, “Intuition is an epiphany of emotion.” Yup…I can testify to that. Intuition got me here. A decision to live under the mantras set forth in “Self-Reliance” got me here. No joke…I had read excerpts of “Self-Reliance” in high school and it profoundly affected my future thought. On that fall, blissfully-ignorant day, the day I learned Peter had passed away, the decision was made—the unrelenting emotions were set rigid in my soul. The moment of the decision—that tear-stained, yet remarkably clear-headed moment—will be forever stamped upon my memory. From that moment on, as Mary Oliver says, the journey began.

“You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried with its stiff fingers

 at the very foundations,

 though their melancholy was terrible”(Oliver 114).

            He died in a pedestrian car accident; he was the pedestrian. One minute he was walking across the road on his college campus. The next minute, he was gone. This fun-loving, incredibly intelligent young man who would have changed the world was…gone. Gone—such an inferior word to describe the feeling of knowing someone was alive one minute and GONE the next. Only after gathering with my friends for a time of communal grieving did I know what I had to do. I had to transfer. I was miserable at my first college. I hated my major. The glove just didn’t fit. Yes, leaving a college to go to another does seem small in the big scheme of things, but for me—transferring was everything. It represented everything I dreamed of becoming, everything I was always too scared to try, and everything I would have to give up if I left my old college behind. Yet, I knew what I had to do. As we sat there with the smells of Starbucks coffee wafting through the air and the waves of sounds creating words—creating memories—we shared of our time with him, I knew what I had to do. That night as I drove home, I realized the transient, fleeting nature of our lives. Here one minute, gone the next. If today was my last day, would I be happy? No. It was time to change. Change colleges. Change majors. Change my life. Finally figure out what the hell Emerson was talking about in “Self-Reliance;” I wanted to LIVE what he was talking about soo badly.  But, most importantly, it was time to find me. The fingers of grief, fear, and dissatisfaction grabbed at me all at once. And suddenly, I wasn’t just mourning the death of Peter anymore; I was mourning the death of me. Not the death of my body, but the death of ME. Me—the person I longed to be. The person who I was. I was a stranger in my own skin. And it took the death of another to realize it.

            The journey began. The funeral had ended. Friends flew back to colleges at faraway places. I was left to my own whirling thoughts. After an emotional battle with myself, I decided, “It was already late // enough” (Oliver 114). I had debated the idea of transferring for over a year. Then, with my mind focused on the shortness of my transient life and dissatisfaction with it thus far, I signed the paperwork. I moved to Ohio to attend Otterbein University. Everything seemed right until my parents dropped me off in my new room. Then, they left. My mom, my best friend, left. Then, I didn’t get to try out for the varsity equestrian team at Otterbein (as promised when I was a prospective student). I missed my friends from my previous college. I didn’t make the next level of competition for the equestrian team; all of my goals and dreams for riding in college were shattered. I went home for a weekend visit and could barely muster the sanity to drive back to Ohio. My old equestrian team, the team I would be captaining had I stayed, qualified for Nationals. I couldn’t go with them. I know there will be many more ups and downs during my time here, but as time progresses, those downs will turn into ups and those downs will only make me who I am, further my own intellectual and emotional growth. I’m simply journeying and learning to “trust thyself” (Emerson 20). And eventually:

“…little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which slowly recognized as your own” (Oliver 114).

            I read. I listen. I think. I am me. When I behold the beauty of English literature, my new major at Otterbein, I know that I am among the few who appreciate the stunning wonder of the English language and its literature. For the first time in my life, I can hear my own voice and its freed arms stretching out to CHOOSE how to understand this world. I can bury deep into the wondrous complexities of my thoughts and emerge more insightful and more inquisitive than ever before. Despite all the heartache, homesickness, and disappointment, I can feel the warm, comforting familiarity of my own voice. And my voice—the one I had pushed down to make room for my pre-vet major persona at my old college—is emerging first as a tiny spark and it grows brighter as every day ebbs and flows.

“[It] kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could –

determined to save

the only life you could save” (Oliver 114).

            I can’t save a life that has been lost. If anything, I thank God for every day I have on Earth and live my life to its fullest possible potential. My life is the only one I can save, and I am on the path to saving it.

            This summer, I was having trouble, once again, mustering the courage to move back to Ohio for the new school year. It’s not that I don’t like it here; NO!  I have never been happier in my life than when I’m at Otterbein. I love it here. I’m home here; but I am home in a place I’ve never known to call home before. This place feels more real to me than all the places, even my own home, house, family, and hometown friends, than I have ever been before. I’m finally me when I’m here at Otterbein.  But, when I was having trouble mustering the courage to come back to Otterbein for a new year and leave the familiarity of home, my family, my dogs (my babies), and my horses (my everything), I won’t lie: I pulled out my circa 1900s copy of Emerson’s essays to attempt to glean some guidance from its yellowed, tattered pages (oh yes, this book came with me to college). And what page did I open to? The second page of “Self-Reliance. It read, “Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events” (Emerson 20). That quote did more for my self-confidence, my trust in my own self-reliance, my trust in the “connection of events,” and my psyche than any quote has ever done before. God, Emerson…words can’t express the ‘self-help’ “Self-Reliance” has done for me. This is why Emerson is in my top 5 list of favorite authors. Wow he’s good.

            So, where and when did I learn to be self-reliant? Who taught me? Where? The parking lot of my old college near my horse’s pasture. My dad showed up on campus to tell me the news that Peter had passed. When? September 9, 2009. Who? Peter. It wasn’t his death that taught me, or rather reminded me to be self-reliant, but it was remembering his life. Peter…now that kid knew how to live! Unfortunately, it took the death of another to awaken the deadened me, but words cannot express how thankful I am to the memory of Peter for helping me find me. When confronted with problems or questions, my high school friends and I say, “What would Peter do.” Well, he’d first off say “fuck those bitches,” and then would proceed to give real advice. That kid…I kind of tear up even today, a year later, thinking about that crazy kid.

            So, to Peter. Thank you. Thanks for really living. Thanks for living a real life and reminding me how to live. We miss you. We’ll never forget you. You being in our lives changed every one of us. You reminded us, and still remind us, how to live. You will forever be loved by all of us. And when the going gets rough, people are nasty, or life just sucks, we will all still hear what you told Alita before her class president graduation speech senior year, “Just fuck those bitches.” Will do, Peter. Will do.

Emerson, Ralph Waldo. "Self-Reliance." Self-Reliance and Other Essays. New York: Dover Publications, 1993. 19-38. Print.
Oliver, Mary. "The Journey." New and Selected Poems. Boston: Beacon Press,  1992. 114-115. Print.