The Essence of Becky Long
By REBECCA LAUTEN
If Becky Long were a candy, there is no doubt she would be a Sour Punch Straw. While the outside is covered in crystallized sugar, the inside is like a karate kick in your mouth. Becky is 5’3”, has a flat stomach, a sweet and welcoming voice, a contagious smile and the rare ability to keep a conversation going with anyone she meets. But under all this sugar is a fighter whose ambition could take her absolutely anywhere, including Sydney, Australia.
On February 3rd, 2010, two huge rolling suitcases, an overstuffed backpack filled with shoes, and a satchel exploding with a blanket accompanied Becky to DFW airport five hours early for her flight across the world. While her mom grasped a tissue around her index finger to blot the tears, her dad held his youngest daughter close. Friends and family were emotional wrecks but Becky did not shed a tear. Instead, she put on her game face to fight her next battle:navigating four airports.
She nested in a corner of a terminal with a phone in hand as she said goodbye to unlimited texting. Her Mac was in her lap as she watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone to keep her mind off the 37-hour travel ahead of her. While she stuffed her face with an Auntie Anne’s salty pretzel dipped in questionable cheese, Becky mentioned, “all I could think about was how my life was about to change forever. Once I stepped on that plane, nothing would ever be the same.”She acknowledged and welcomed this change, with open arms.
The 4.0 GPA smarty-pants left for Australia to study abroad with her suitcase perfectly organized and her color-coded planner safely stowed in her Northface backpack. Becky commented, “little did I know that my semester studying at Macquarie University lacked the need for a routine…or stickers for my calendar that represented tests and projects.”
Her first stop was New Zealand where she would visit two islands and seven cities in eight days with her sorority sister she convinced to go on the adventure with her. The insanely organized freak said “hell naw” to a travel agent and planned out every last detail using any New Zealand travel book she could get her hands on. She left nothing to spontaneity and regularly saved updated versions of her itinerary with extensive details. Becky said, “I didn’t take any chances and made sure every reservation and every ticket was double or triple confirmed.” However, no amount of itinerary updates could prepare her for the chaos that greeted her when she arrived at the Auckland airport.
A typical traveler would be excited to recognize their luggage at baggage claim. Not Becky. This meant that it was now her job again to drag the luggage (which weighed more than her) around to customs, and then out of the airport. Due to exhaustion, Becky said she “may have tripped and fallen, with [her] luggage piling on top of her.” But she was determined to get to the hostel, and got up while blowing her greasy hair out from in front of her face. Becky relived the torture; “after getting through the line at customs, finding a currency exchange store, getting a pay phone to work, waiting for a shuttle, lifting my luggage into the upmost compartments of the bus, getting dropped off on a random street, finding the hostel a few blocks away, getting the keys, figuring out how to turn the lights on, showering with cold water, accepting that there was no air conditioning, and setting up my Tony the Tiger alarm clock, I was ready for bed.”
While the journey to the land down under would be exhausting for anyone, it was emotionally exhausting for Becky Long. She had a great group of friends, a perfect GPA, a fought over internship at the Fort Worth Zoo, and a comfortable lifestyle. But behind this polished character was a soul that craved change, freedom, spontaneity, and growth. “I was completely content with what I had. It just didn’t really seem like I was living, that’s all.”
She wanted change and she got it.
The change wasn’t overnight. As she got settled at Macquarie University, a college with 33,000 students and surrounded by national parks, Becky said, “I had a hard time breaking out of my shell” (Macquarie University). She had to adjust from having her own bathroom to all of a sudden sharing with 9 boys and 1 girl; from making her own dinners to relying on spaghetti on toast for breakfast and questionable lamb for dinner. To get her mind off feeling isolated as “the new kid”, Becky spent her time decorating her prison-cell-sized dorm room. She covered the brick walls that said “you have no idea what you are in for, it’s a cold dark hell this place” with pictures from home.
Hugh Raleigh, a club soccer player who lived at Dunmore Lang College (fondly called DLC) with Becky, told me that for a while he thought that, “this Becky Long character was a rumor. Something spoken about but never seen.” After lots of talk about it, Hugh and his best “mate” Will King decided to knock on her door and find out about this American for themselves. They ended up spending the whole afternoon in her room, completely mesmerized by the charming American with a southern accent. Her shell was broken and she lived in Australia happily ever aver (for 5 months).
The black and white thinking, easily stressed American quickly found new priorities besides school. Suddenly, there were more important things like new friends, exploring, and making memories. Taking a leap of faith with bungee jumping, swimming with sharks, scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef, holding a Koala named O’Rion, whale watching, seeing the iconic Sydney Opera House, walking the Sydney Harbour Bridge, traveling through the rain forest, seeing a shipwreck, playing in a field with kangaroo then eating a kangaroo, and experiencing pancakes with ice cream on top were only a few of the things on the list that topped school as a priority. But when asked what she was most proud of, Becky said, “my music theatre group performance”.
After five months of hiking, exploring, swimming, and drinking like a fish, you wouldn’t expect that answer. Before going into a long, complicated, and blood pressure raising story, Becky closed her eyes, swallowed a massive gulp of margarita, and took a deep breath. “Pauline’s scariness is almost indescribable: Her gray hair is short and spiky, her British voice cold and harsh, and her gaze worthy of making someone pee their pants. You would expect her to wear a witch outfit and carry a broom. Instead she wears dance pants and walks around the room talking about how her music theatre class requires a minimum of 12 hours of work a week to pass the class.” Pauline believed in solo improv dancing, which ended up with Becky crying in front of the entire class due to pressure, humiliation, and not so constructive criticism. The only word Becky could think of to explain the experience was miserable, and apparently traumatizing. “Ay you…yeah, yeah, you, Becky is it? Why don’t you go ahead and show the class some dance moves that come to mind.” You could see the blood rush to Becky’s face just telling the story. “I danced. I don’t remember what I did, I just knew I had to move so the scary witch would go away. But she kept telling me I was doing it wrong. How could I improv wrong?!” Becky asked.
After lots of venting, cursing, and “Berry Blasts, which are Australia’s version of Sonic Cherry Limeades plus vodka, Becky decided to find freedom through giving up on pleasing Pauline. But giving up on pleasing Pauline meant so much more than simply not caring what Pauline thought. It was the start of a new Becky, the Becky who didn’t need a 4.0 GPA to define her as smart: the planner to prove she was on top of things; the make-up to show she was pretty. Not caring what Pauline thought gave Becky a freedom to show Pauline, and the rest of the world, who Becky really was.
Becky’s sweet sidedisintegrated and out came this bad-ass blonde bombshell who refused to let others bring her down. She began wearing sequin skirts, making the first moves on guys, and accepting that life without trying to be perfect was way more fun.
Her new stress-free attitude made the journey back to America with her…and not without being noticed. Lindsey McMullen, a friend of Becky’s pre-Australia, described Becky as “a perfectionist”. Reunited in August of 2011, Lindsey called Becky “a whole new person” who “doesn’t take herself as seriously.” Don’t get me wrong, Becky still is way more on top of things than most graduating seniors, but with her ambition is a fighter who is completely aware and happy with who she is. Instead of “freak outs” she decides to “dance it out.”
This new attitude not only helped her survive her journey, but also made her experience exponentially better. Traveling is now one of her biggest passions, and her life long dream would be to be able to constantly travel with her husband and kids one day. When asked what she wants to challenge herself to do next, she responded, “find a job somewhere else and move somewhere exciting.”
When talking over the margaritas, Becky thought along time about what made her so passionate about traveling. It’s not ants in her pants or the “travel bug” that makes Becky not able to sit still. To her, being somewhere new means independence, freedom, and growing. Exploring not only beautiful landscapes, but exploring herself and what she is truly capable of. After thoroughly dipping a chip into creamy white queso, she stressed how important she thinks it is for everyone to push themselves. Maybe not moving half way across the world, but getting outside of his or her comfort zone. As she covered her finger with the rock salt around the rim of her margarita glass, she said, “People are scared. But everyone needs to make that big leap and do anything outlandish. It makes you better.” So if the OCD, Wite-Out loving, Tide-to-go carrying, clean freak can let down her hair, leave her planner behind and just see where life takes her, then who can’t?