Appreciation for my hometown of Fallbrook

I have finished my freshman year of college and am about to dive into my second. I feel older and wiser and still feel like I can conquer the world. I have probably become more liberal and more argumentative through my small exposure to college life. I have learned a number of things from thermodynamics to multi-dimensional optimization. The academic things I have learned have been great, but the best thing I have come to learn has nothing to do with textbooks and lectures. By far, my favorite erudition has been my appreciation for Fallbrook.

I was scared that moving only forty-five minutes from home to go to UC San Diego would do nothing for my desire to see different sides of this world and appreciate what I had at home. Little did I know that it would be plenty to make me realize not only the wonderful home I lived in, but the amazing town I lived in also. Living somewhere else, even fifty miles down the road in La Jolla, has opened my eyes to how much Fallbrook means to me and how it even saved my life.

When I first meet a person at school, within the first three questions comes, “Where are you from?” Previously, I would have answered “Northern San Diego County” or “Southern Riverside.” Upon coming to UCSD, I decided I was going to say my hometown with pride and let them figure it out on their own. Surprisingly, many people know of it.

They always refer to it as “the little town off 76” or my favorite, “that avocado place.” But nonetheless, people knew it. I liked that, and hearing it made me think more about how much I loved the little town I couldn’t wait to get out of.

On the twenty-third of this month, it will be two years since my [vehicle] accident. It went by in the blink of an eye, and I can’t believe how far I have come. I remember how slow life was when I first came out of the hospital, and the feelings I had that I would never be able to live any kind of a normal life again. I have met many paraplegics along the way and I have found that not many recover very well. Many fall into a dark hole of depression and never really come out. Others don’t believe they can do anything and just find things to fill their days, without doing anything productive or constructive.

I have by no means perfected any kind of a lifestyle, but I can definitely see that I am a lot better off than many others. Almost every morning I wake up from dreams of running drills in rugby practice only to find that I still cannot feel my legs. It is hard and depressing and at times I question whether I am cut out for this. But as I start my morning routine, my mind starts to come around and I slowly raise my spirits, looking for every bit of positive I can.

I believe in the deepest places of my heart that I have Fallbrook to thank for this. There have been many individuals that have been crucial in getting me back on my feet, so to speak, and they know who they are and should already know my thankfulness. But a key factor that I don’t think I quite recognized before was the community of Fallbrook as a whole. While in the hospital, I was flooded with visitors, letters, prayer blankets, gift baskets; you name it. And it was cool in the moment because I was getting lots of stuff.

Looking back, the support I received was something that gave me hope. It gave me a reason every morning to wake up and keep going. That support is something I do not believe I would have gotten had I gone to Carlsbad High or LCC. This is what has carried me through these past two years with ease and comfort, making my life-changing transition as easy as possible.

For that, I thank you Fallbrook. I am sorry that it has taken me so long to realize it, but I hope you know I mean it from the bottom of my heart.

My friends and I talk about how much we can’t wait to grow up, have kids, and come back to Fallbrook to raise them with the same type of life we had. I love the town of Fallbrook and no matter where I go in life, I will be proud of where I am from.

Thank you for making it that way, Fallbrook; thank you for saving my life.