I just remembered the best memory.
Coincidentally, this is also the story of how I had to seek emergency professional medical care for my asthma for the first time.
Oddly enough, it can be both.
It started like any other Tuesday evening for me, at the time, 18, in college, away from home – 45 minutes away – for the first time. Young, impressionable. Scarily optimistic and trusting. I took a full class load, I took Honors Civ and Honors Humanities, I auditioned for dance company, I was a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed little thing.
My bestest best friend Lauren and I still taught dance back in our home town, 45 minutes away. We ran the dance program at our community park and recreation center with our other best friend Becky, which, eventually, two years and two recitals later, turned out to be a bit much for both of us to handle, on top of our class work, on top of dance company rehearsals, attempting a modicum of a social life. But our first semester, freshman year, it was completely the norm for me to scamper home from my afternoon class, grab our stuff, hike down the hill to the freshman lot, get Lauren’s car, drive it over to the building where her afternoon class was finishing up – pick her up, stuff sandwiches or fruit – lunch — in our face as we drove top speed, play our class music and review or notes – teach from 4:30 until 9:30, some eight to ten classes in five hours between the three of us…and then drive 45 minutes home. Stagger up the hill from the freshman lot to our form. Collapse in our dorm rooms, unwind for a moment – and then start our homework. It was exhausting – but we had amazing students, and it was the first time we’d gotten to run a dance program on our own.