I had a reasonable column all written and ready to go yesterday morning. All I had to do was send it in. My morning was interrupted, however, by Terry Sanford's funeral. Listening to the accolades and praise heaped upon the senator by his friends and colleagues, I couldn't help but be moved into my own state of reflection.
I often feel that my own problems are insurmountable. Classwork, job searches and preparing to graduate can really add some stress to one's life. Coupled with a rainy day or a traffic jam, they can make me go nuts. But every now and then something or someone comes along to remind you that your problems don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world-there are more compelling plights and more important battles to be fought than those in your own backyard.
That's not to say that the alcohol policy or bench burning are insignificant issues. They're as important to the Gothic Wonderland as presents are to Christmas. What I mean to say is that when you fight for your cause, realize that it is not the only cause, nor is it the only way to do something.
Sanford exuded grace and charm the one time I met him in his office, nearly three summers ago. I had gone in to interview him for a story I was writing. After assuring me that he was involved in name only, Sanford politely refused to make any official comment. Expecting to be ushered out of his office as quickly as I came in, instead I was treated to a 15-minute conversation. He asked me where I was from, what I was doing at the University for the summer and what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Once I told him I was a Carolina girl and that I wanted to go to law school, his eyes lit up and he offered advice and good wishes for my future endeavors.
In researching an article on Sanford's philanthropic activities, I was astounded by the number of times students were the center of his attention. And I realized that the talk we had in his office was just Sanford returning to his roots-getting to know the students he seldom interacted with anymore.
Another recent event has helped open my eyes to what lies before me. Two months ago, a longtime friend was involved in a car accident and lost his right leg. When I first found out, I was beside myself with worry-Eric was not in the most stable of psychological states. I called the hospital every day until he went home, just to keep him from being bored out of his skull.
I finally saw him when, lured by his tragedy and the balancing effect of basketball games, I went home for spring break. My boyfriend and I logged hours toting Eric back and forth to various boredom-fighting activities. We brought him to my house, where he played talented games of one-legged billiards and waxed philosophical on what it was like to have to start over again.
For Eric, the accident was a blessing in disguise. The time off has allowed him to set some new goals, such as going to college and staying drug free. For me, Eric's accident was a wake-up call. Though I am young and have a bright future ahead of me, I am neither infallible nor immortal. Like the cliches say, my life can change in the blink of an eye, so I should live every moment to its fullest.
It seems as if Terry Sanford learned this lesson early and lived his life in its vision. It is true that Sanford's resume reads like those of a dozen men combined, and he never quit fighting for what he believed in, no matter the cost.
Improving education was one of Sanford's primary goals. I, too, have a concern for the educational community. I believe that everyone should have a chance at an education. I'm outraged when I hear that the county is going to slice more off an already trim public school budget. The fact that I care so much makes me wonder if this is where I'm heading. Perhaps I will find my forte in the educational world, perhaps not.
But I don't have to know where I'm going to make a difference right away. Sanford surely didn't-he worked as an FBI agent, a U.S. Army paratrooper and an attorney before finally finding his niche as a statesman. My friend Eric has worked more jobs and lived in more places than I can count. Now he says he'll settle down, go to school and try to figure out what to do next.
As for me, I'm still not sure where my focus will lie after I leave the Gothic Wonderland. I have ideas and goals, but it sometimes seems to me that those are just backup plans until something fabulous smacks me in the kisser. It will be like a calling that I know I am ready to follow.
Leslie Deak is a Trinity senior and a senior editor for The Chronicle.
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