Well, shit.

On October 7th, 2006, sitting in a loud, dark bar in the Lower Haight, a good friend asked me if he could give me a piece of advice. I had been whingeing and moaning about life, overwork, applying to PhD programs, etc. “Of course,” I blinked; open to most anything but not expecting much.

“Kyla,” he said, “shit, or get off the pot.”

I was a bit taken aback, given that Tom has been nothing but kind and supportive for the time I’ve known him, and harsh comments are unexpected after the first few pints of Racer 5. I realized quickly, however, that he made an excellent point. I could continue to complain about the things standing in my way, or I could just do what I needed to do and move on.

Taking the advice to heart, I promised Tom that I would indeed “shit,” and I stumbled home to [sleep first then] start really applying myself to this whole grad school issue.

Months later, I am happy to report that I have accepted Stanford’s offer of admission, and I will start there in the fall. Thanks, Tom, and more soon!