Is Life Really as Easy as 1…2…3?

Growing up as a child, storytellers and parents alike have read me fictitious tales about magical kingdoms, princesses in faraway castles, and cliché villains that are seemingly always defeated by the story’s charming hero. While each story contains different characters and a different setting, the presence of the mystical number three is overwhelming. At a young age, I began picking up on just how often the number three appeared in my own life, maybe because I had a obsession with Disney’s Cinderella which exhibited this number through nearly every aspect such as the three mice. Despite the reason, this realization became a part of my identity.

I was born on April 6th, 1999 to a family of three; one mom, one dad, and one older brother. My arrival meant a new home with two black letters etched onto a freshly painted mailbox; 21. Maybe its just me psychoanalyzing the obscurity of how often this seemingly insignificant number appears in my life, but I can’t help but see that 2+1=3. As my adolescence approached, the number three became an unrecognized obsession. I played three sports, volleyball, basketball, and lacrosse whose uniforms seemingly always included “three”. While, a majority of my friends found comfort in even numbers, there has always been something dubious, yet intriguing about the oddity of the number three.

As I grew older, and the daunting years at college were upon me, it only made sense that I would apply to three schools; The University of Virginia, The University of South Carolina, and The University of Georgia. While each school offered endless possibilities, and perhaps a new sense of identity, it only seemed right to move three states away and attend The University of Georgia.