Pursuit of Happiness

The air around us rapidly becomes more biting. The whipping wind isn’t helping. I’m aware of a man’s voice rising and falling nearby, but I can’t make out what he is saying anymore. I’m not listening closely enough.

Picture by Ben Jarvis.

Picture by Ben Jarvis.

Instead, I notice how snow flecks are falling around, disappearing just before hitting the scarlet coffin. My chest tightens, and I squeeze the single yellow rose clutched in my hands.

The last time it snowed, Abbie and I had a photo shoot. We were determined to finally get some good pictures together, and the campus looked magical. I remember snow was squeezing through the hole in her boot, but she wouldn’t let that bother her. We goofed around every time it snowed in Lubbock. We called it frolicking. So it was fitting then that snowstorm Goliath was expected to hit only a couple hours after her funeral.

Nearly two months have passed since then. Time surely seems to be moving forward faster than normal. Abbie would be turning 23 today if she were still alive.

Picture by Ben Jarvis.

Picture by Ben Jarvis.

I’ve sat down to write this many times. Each time I have ended up staring at the screen and watching the cursor blink. I’m still not completely sure how to put the last couple of months into words — or even a single cohesive thought.

It seems like people try to find a lesson from tragedies. I know I have been asking myself what I should be learning from all this.

I keep coming back to the same conclusion: Life is confusing. Chaotic. Impermanent.

I’m at an age when life should be celebrated. When I go on Facebook, my feed is filled with announcements of engagement, marriage and babies. Yet I think I’ve been to more funeral ceremonies than weddings in my life.

I wouldn’t say it gets any easier or any less shocking each time. Because it doesn’t — especially not when someone young is gone so suddenly, so prematurely, so unexpectedly. Instead, I am reminded about how short life is each time.

An intense need to live life to the fullest and not take anything for granted usually follows. I will usually keep up with my resolve until my responsibilities pile up, and then I go back to my old ways.

Picture by Blake Silverthorn.

Picture by Blake Silverthorn.

This time has been a little different. Abbie’s death gave me a full-on existential crisis.

I’ve known childhood friends, extended family, mentors and family friends who have died, but Abbie was one of my closest friends. It’s hard to decide which story best illustrates our friendship. I mean there was a point in time when we were together so much that some people seemed to think we were interchangeable.

But after I started graduate school, life became busy, hectic and tiring. I didn’t have as much social time, and when I had free time, I wanted to relax. I let my relationships fall to the wayside, mine and Abbie’s included. I let time get away from me.

So what have I learned?

Abbie9

Former Hub staff members Evan Dixon, me, Chancellor Emeritus Kent Hance, Abbie and Shahaley Carr at our Spring 2014 graduation.

I know that I will miss her. There are times when I want to talk to Abbie about something and then realize I can’t. But I also know my memories with her make my heart happy.

I have accepted that we cannot change the past. It’s how we move forward that matters. I still don’t exactly know what I want. Perhaps it really is as simple as this: life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

About Alicia Keene

Graduate Executive Director
Alicia Keene is a dual master's student from Austin, Texas studying mass communication and business. One day, she hopes to work for a prominent news publication in a major city as either a reporter or producer.