I remember opening the link to an article that revealed the new Andy Warhol line of Converse. They were going to be released in three months and I remembered wanting to be the first one to buy them. I knew that it was literally impossible to be the first to buy it, but I was excited nonetheless.
The day came for the shoes to be released, and I walked to three different stores in the mall to find the best price. Gavin decided to tag along with me for the day, and after two stores didn’t have my size I carried on to Journey’s. An adventure that should have taken less than 15 minutes took 30, due to the employees attempting to up-sell accessories and socks to me. Nevertheless, I got the shoes.
I wore these shoes every day, even though the temperature was just beginning to reach the 80’s, and would only get warmer. I would wear them to work, which was a huge mistake because at the time I worked at a swim school, meaning I would have to wear these shoes out with wet feet to greet the parents and students every half hour. That summer my shoes reeked of chlorine, but even my awful manager at the time would compliment me on them everyday.
My job at Aqua-Tots seemed like a dream at first, off by 8 PM each weeknight, off by 2 PM Saturdays, and I was off Fridays and Sundays. Boy was I wrong. I wasn’t told that I would be staying 45 minutes late each night due to cleaning the lobby, filling out report sheets, and occasional staff meetings. While the job taught me plenty about patience, I slowly realized I wasn’t meant to be teaching children for the rest of my life. It was time to cross that backup option off of my list.
After Aqua-Tots came Starbucks, which was the absolute perfect option for me, due to the easy access of a job when I chose my college due to transferring. With me getting the job at Starbucks, it meant senior year, college applications, and Gavin leaving for school without me. The beginning of my senior year caused my panic attacks to become more frequent, I slept more than usual, and slacked off on the first few projects of the year. My routine hardly ever changed, and began my reputation of “the girl who has the Campbell’s Soup shoes” due to my wearing of them everyday. My art began to reflect my mental health, as I slowly felt more and more isolated due to Gavin leaving for the city. I tried to place all of my negative energy into my art, but I found that my lack of motivation made it difficult to do so.
I spent nearly a month and a half focusing on my negative thoughts, as opposed to trying to improve them. I remember my 17th birthday on September 19th, 2015, I spent the entirety of the night wondering why I had felt so alone at that Red Robin table, even though my mother, grandparents, (now ex) best friend, and brothers had been with me, and why I was so ungrateful for having a nice life. I began to realize how I had begun to slowly stop taking care of myself, as I had lost weight, my eyes had started to look sunken in, and I was wearing the same dirty pair of leggings and dirty Converse every week.
Things slowly were beginning to look up once it was closer to my visit to New York, due to two main reasons. One: I was going to be able to see Gavin again, and perhaps I would feel less alone in the world, and two: I was finally going to be able to see myself as what I could be as an art student in New York City.
My trip to New York was right around the time that hurricane Joaquin was moving up the East Coast. My first evening in the city consisted of shopping at Nordstrom Rack for a raincoat and umbrellas, and should also have included a pair of rain boots. I had brought two pairs of shoes for the five day trip, and neither had been waterproof. Due to my Converse being slightly less absorbent, they had to trek through dirty puddles that may as well have consisted of sewage, as the laces and canvas became stained with dirt that would likely never come off with a run through the washer. My first school visit was to the School of Visual Arts, and I can’t remember much of the visit besides the trip on the shuttle, due to the day being cold and rainy, and the bus having a heater. That same day I had a trip to visit Parsons, and I remember getting lost attempting to find the Welcome Center, which after having been on campus for a month and a half seems awfully silly. I remember the trip being centered mostly around the fashion program (understandably), and that when we reached the library, my mom and I must have stuck around for too long as the tour guide left us and we wandered for twenty minutes before simply going back to the Welcome Center. Being left behind is still ridiculous to me today, because of the fact that I had been wearing a bright red rain coat.
Walking through the city with Gavin seemed like a dream I never wanted to wake up from, and while I love my mom and can say she is my best friend, she wasn’t meant to be part of this dream of mine and Gavin’s. The final day of my visit to New York was a campus visit to Pratt Institute, and the tour included walking over a mile, without including the walk to campus from the subway. Due to my mother being unable to walk faster than what seemed slower than the pace of a snail, we missed the first tour, and I began to see why I needed to escape Omaha, Nebraska, and needed to learn to exist on my own without my parents overlooking each step I took.
Leaving the city meant another goodbye with Gavin, which meant I would soon have to welcome the feeling of isolation yet again in Nebraska. While I had just regained a friendship with Abbey Quebedeaux, my freshman year best friend, she dealt with her own mental illness and neither of us could consistently be there to heal one another, though we certainly tried. We both felt as though we were drowning in schoolwork and college applications, and that’s because we both were. We also were suppressing the idea of being halfway across the country from each other for potentially the rest of our lives.
College applications and my portfolio kept me busy from November into the end of December, which helped with keeping my panic attacks at a minimum, but they still flared up at times, making it even more difficult to finalize my applications. These months made my mom nervous for me living on my own in the city, and dealing with my mental illness, but I had tried to reassure her that once I left they would leave as well, and that was mostly the truth.
When college applications were sent, it was a waiting game for three months, and the letters slowly came in. First was the Kansas City Art Institute, then the School of Visual Arts, and next an email from Pratt Institute. Gavin had been home for spring break, and I was overjoyed to see him since the month over winter break had felt like a lifetime ago. I felt my heart in my throat as I saw the email in my inbox, and it took over twenty minutes to open it, only to find out I had been waitlisted. I was heartbroken. How was I to simply wait until May to hear my true decision? Was this me being told that I was simply the understudy? Good, but not good enough unless enough dropped out. I was ready to quit, I was going to give up and go to the city college in Omaha, pursue nursing or something of the sort. I grieved like I had just lost a family member, and stayed home from work and school the next day.
Fast forward one week. An email from Parsons. “Please click this link and sign in to find your application decision.” My heart jumped back into my throat, a feeling that I had only before been able to associate with an oncoming panic attack. I had been accepted, and I interrupted English class in order to tell each of my teachers. I doodled all of class, and created two more pieces for my AP portfolio that week. I was able to make it on my own, I was not simply a second choice on a list of eligible artists.
My final summer in Omaha consisted of an equal amount of enjoying my final days of being in my house and preparation for my new lifestyle and a clean slate. I was ready to start anew, find my new routine, start a new life with Gavin, and study what I had been doing as a hobby for over 15 years. I was ready for New York City, where the only thing dirtier than the subways are my Campbell’s Soup Converse.
