The Struggle Bus

The one thing that I gleaned from California when we went for FBLA (other than the fact that sand bugs are real and quite harmless, albeit incredibly creepy when you notice antenni tickling your feet) is that there is this vehicle that everybody rides on even if you don't know it. It's known as the struggle bus.

One of the speakers at the national convention told us this story about one day when everything was going so wrong that he wasn't on the bus but chasing after it frantically begging to ride.

There are those that casually step on and ride for a stop or so, those that drive, those that chase it down the street, and those that have a permanent seat. I would be a reluctant member of the last classification.

But I don't begrudge whoever it was that snuck me that lifetime ticket. Really.

I'm the kind of person that gets hit in the face by falling leaves in the middle of a crowded public space. Which is more symbolic really than actually traumatizing.

I'm the kind of person that spends hours studying and then stretches for approximately 37 seconds before falling and landing with all my body weight on an electric plug, imbedding the larger of the two prongs in the soft tissue between my thumb and index, making it forever impossible to open pickle jars.

I'm the kind of person that, almost exactly one week later, steps on glass and walks around leaving tiny blood smears because it's shallow enough to be only minorly painful but too deep to get out.

I'm the person who nearly a week later wakes up with extreme stomach pain, passes out in the hallway, wakes up with a bloody lip, and goes to the doctor to find out it was literally nothing. (And the same person who found out after not being able to purchase textbooks that scholarship money does not cover that particular health expense.)

It's kind of nice to belong to a place, even if it is a cracked plastic seat on imaginary public transportation. I like to imagine it like I show up at the bus stop every morning, maybe with coffee in hand, greet the chipper, plump, older gentleman named George who drives the bus, and sit in my old familiar seat with a quiet appreciation of routine. 

And none of this has intentionally been a complaint, simply an admission of an accepted fact. I am comfortable in my seat, even if it does have slightly higher medical and insurance bills. I like to think it's part of my charm. An adorable little quirk if you will.

Being able to laugh at yourself is an important, even if slightly painful, ability to develop. 

I like to think of the little things that happen as challenges. It kind of makes me want to walk in slow motion while really cool music plays and something explodes in the background because I know I've got this.