It is a good thing I know how to juggle. I never imagined when my father taught me in the fifth grade, with three of the oranges from the fruit bowl in the dining room, that the talent would ever become such an important skill for me to possess.
Because juggling is not a skill that is often required in the professional world, I am sure most readers have enough insight to figure that I am not actually referring to the literal act of juggling; however, I can juggle in that sense as well. But the juggling act most common in my life includes trying to manipulate my many extracurricular activities.
The life of any Rangerette is difficult, despite the common “princess-world” misconception we are generally saddled with. For any one of my team members, her daily routine involves going to all of her classes, classes that not only include math, and sciences, and literature, but dance classes as well, then to practice and then to work out individually for an hour afterward. Twice a week, we are required to work out for an hour with our trainer, Victor, which unfortunately takes place in the early hours of morning for most, and once a week to attend a class meeting around 9:30 p.m., followed by a number of hours of homework, before finally crawling into bed.
Now you can see why I said that a Rangerette’s schedule is in and of itself a juggling act. Where the trick becomes even more complicated is when my personal agenda is thrown into the mix.
In addition to being a Rangerette, I also serve as the assistant editor of The Flare, a job which requires a minimum of three hours of work outside of class weekly, but usually ends up being somewhere around 12. That is without factoring in the number of hours it takes to conduct interviews and actually write my articles; to add to that even more, I am also working for the yearbook this semester too.
When my school-related activities are at last circulating through my impressive juggling routine with ease, I throw in my non-school related jobs.
The first to throw in is my teaching job. Two nights a week, I teach a private dance lesson for a Rangerette Hopeful to help her prepare for tryouts in July.
On those same two nights, I meet with a friend of mine to help with a special writing project of his, the second ball to toss in; our work generally takes an hour to an hour and a half.
Finally, for ball number three, on Friday mornings, and again around noon, I work in the alumni relations office for an hour.
When I get home at night, (at long last it would seem) I then try to make a conscious effort to call and catch up with my family, because family is extremely important to me. From there I set to work on my Mount Everest of homework, and of course call my boyfriend to chat, or watch an episode of Dexter with him over Skype.
To an outsider, my weekly routine looks beyond maniacal, I am sure. From the time my feet hit the floor in the morning, I am on the go, running 90 to nothing. I would bet I would not be too far off to describe what I look like, hustling and bustling about, as comparable to what the inside of a tornado looks like. But really, my routine is not some insane whirlwind, but instead a beautifully orchestrated performance.
This juggling is an art, a science; perfectly synchronized.
To me, my rushing to and from place to place is not madness, but organized chaos for lack of a better term, and to be honest, I am not quite sure what I am going to do with myself next year when I am no longer involved in so many activities, because time is obviously not a commodity I have often had in excess.
Nevertheless, I can attribute my success in this art to fierce concentration, unwavering self-discipline, and acute activities management.
While at times all of my obligations can become a bit overwhelming, (extremely overwhelming) when all is said and done, Rangerettes, The Flare, yearbook, school, my loved ones and my odd jobs bring me happiness, and happiness is what it is all about in the end.
Dezirae Burnett is a sophomore journalism major from Huntington.