The boy who loved

For someone who is so set on writing a blog I’m terrible at actually getting around to it. Mainly because I don’t really know what I’m meant to write about. I wanna write about something that’s…

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FAILURE BROUGHT ME HERE

If my name was Ric Flair, maybe this is the point where I’d introduce myself as the jet-flyin’, limousine-ridin’, kiss-stealin’, wheeler-dealin’ son of a gun.

But in truth, it probably goes a little more like this:

The bar-tending, beer-drinking, football-going, graps-loving, lovably idiotic journalism graduate who is commonly referred to as the ‘Albino Mag’, or simply ‘Albino’ by a certain section of his inner circle.

It wasn’t always that way though. In fact, before all of that, there was a rather unpleasant day in August 2014 where an awkward, introverted seventeen-year-old boy named Dom Sweeney was referred to by a tutor as somebody who “wasn’t cut out for further education” following the abject failure of his AS Levels.

The two years of sheer graft and evolution that followed that day are what I like to refer to as my ‘character development’ years. The introvert of the previous seventeen years well and truly came out of his shell, and he had a serious point to prove to everybody.

And prove it he did.

Not only was he cut out for further education, but he well and truly excelled at it, and found himself with a place at Birmingham City University months before any of his peers.

That was the first time failure had taken me where I needed to go. The second, most recent instance was a far more recent affair.

Following a highly successful, enthralling two years of opportunity and relentlessness in my work, all it took was a final breath, a few punches, a fear of bars, a downfall upstairs, and a desire to jump to turn 2019 into the single worst year of my life. Failing my dissertation was quite simply the cherry on top.

Left with a week to right one of those wrongs, and with every inch of my desire and enthusiasm all but depleted, a fleeting memory of my late Grandmother along with the sight of the application I had made to study a Masters degree the previous October gave me the second wind I so desperately needed, both in life and academia.

Failure earned me a degree in Media and Communications with a specialism in Journalism, which I cherish as if it were my own child. And failure is the reason that I now write this piece as a Masters student.

Failure has once again brought me to exactly where I need to be in life, but I must say, I’m certainly not looking to make it a hat-trick!

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