I put together a list of blog ideas together. I would reveal them all now, but it  might ruin the future of my posts. The one I was going to write about tonight had to do with my real reasons for getting rid of Facebook. I dug deep to think of all sorts of little stories I could use to explain how evil that book is. Regardless, when I sat down at my laptop this evening in attempts to fill the gap of being nocturnal, I received a text message from a friend asking how I did this semester. It turned out grades were up. Hesitancy grew. I signed on to my school’s website and logged in my username. I clicked submit and threw my hands over my eyes. While peering between my fingers, I could see the letters next to the classes now filed into my transcript. Slowly lowering my hands, the letters became more apparent. Each one more realistic than the other. But when I got to the last class, I gasped.

See this semester was a big one for me. I discovered a lot about myself. One such discovery was a new talent. I have been studying art since Freshman year of college. I started off with drawing and I was good at it. I was really good. But, come on, drawing? How was I going to make a career out of that? My professor suggested being a police sketch artist. This sounded cool, but I had much higher hopes. I explored my school’s art department and found graphic design. I had this professor for 2 semesters and she sung my praises about how good I was, yadda yadda yadda. Finally I took advanced design with the director of the art department and in my first week I showed him a sample of a poster I was designing representing an art movement called New York Style which was perpetuated in the early 1970’s. He took one look and scoffed. See this class required a lot of skill, prerequisites and with this professor, a lot of backbone. He told me one of the harshest things I have ever heard as an artist, writer, human being, etc. He told me my work was amateur at best. I walked out of that class nearly every day, silent. It was upsetting and frustrating and I thought I had no future as an artist. But when it came time to pick classes, I figured I would finish my art major to be able to put it on the resume. The class I needed was Photography.

I started photography out and fell in love with it. After one session, I was hooked. I did my first project and loved the challenge of capturing an image that could never be captured again. Another fun fact is that I am a colorblind art major and in my previous escapades, it has been troublesome. But with photography, I could show the world what I saw through the lens. My professor happened to be the same professor who I had for advanced design who was disgusted with my graphic skills. But after my first photo shoot and photo critique, he was blown away by my photos.

All I could think about during this class was something my professor had drilled into our minds just a few months prier in advanced design. He would lecture us about his Yale days. He yelled how when he was in class, there was one A, if you wanted it, you had to fight for it, you had to show that you were the best.  After a semester of photo shoots, lovely models and late printing nights, tonight was the night to discover my grade for the class. My eyes slowly scrolled down the list of classes. All good grades. I was very pleased. But when I got to Photo I stopped. I had gotten an A



Well, this was unfortunate. And indeed I did gasp. I sent a message to a friend of mine who modeled for me a lot this semester and was a big support. I told her I had gotten a B+ on one of the projects and we chatted a little bit and she said, “guess we have to accept a few slight faults every once in a while.” I responded with how perfect I am and how that was impossible. I was kidding…kind of. We poked back and forth and that was it but I continued to think about what she said.

We all have to accept our faults once in a while. I get teased for being a flirt. I was out for drinks with some friends while back and one of them was browsing the drink menu and found one called the “Flirtini” and she pointed it out to me and we all laughed. I did not hate this. See  I’ve been called a flirt for years. But the thing was, it only started after I got thin and more admittedly more attractive. Pre-college, I was very chubby. But regardless of the chub, I had a smooth tongue. It was taken consistently as the cute, funny, chubby guy being the cute, funny, chubby guy. But the second there was no chubby it turned into cute and funny guy. My personality was immediately flirty. Again, I didn’t hate it. And why should I? I was complemented constantly on how great I looked and how it boosted my spirit.

But as this semester persisted, I found that my constant want to get away from chubby Nicholas pushed me to get in better shape and perfect my personality a little more. I discovered more interest being developed in myself. At first it was flattering. But it grew distressing and then became a problem. I went to my office one night and a friend was sitting there doing work. She could tell I was a little frustrated so asked what was wrong. I told her this girl confessed to liking me. It bothered me because I was in a relationship. And my friend said it, “Well you’re a huge flirt”.

There it was. See I think I always knew it, but having it laid out in front of me really made that fault real. I had been blaming it on the fact that I was no different than before I lost a lot of weight. But the fact was, it was different. It was something I needed to watch out for. I couldn’t chalk up my casual comments to the fact that it was different due to my healthier physique. I had to be more aware and I had to accept that it was indeed a fault.

So since that conversation, I became more aware and slowed down the cute comments. And in the 3 hours it has been since I saw that A- and wrote this post, I’ve been thinking. That minus has given me a whole new set of goals for the future. I am not the greatest photographer that could ever live. I am not the best man to walk the earth. But with the acknowledgment of our faults, we take the necessary steps to get to these places.

And hell, A- isn’t that bad. I’ll get the A next semester. I’ll fight harder.


Nicholas James


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