The other day in English, our teacher asked the class to draw three columns on a piece of scratch paper. In the first column, we were told to jot down a few bullet points about aspects of TCU that we appreciate. In the second column, “Write the opposite. Write down bullet points about what you dislike about TCU.” Then came the third column, which unbeknownst to me, would be my favorite. “In this column, write down anything that, if you could, you would magically change about your experience at TCU. Then once you’re done, I’ll have you guys share with the rest of the class what you wrote.” “Oh, boy, hey now...” I think to myself. You can’t ask a question like that and expect a highly imaginative mind not to travel into some sort of distant, off-the-wall adventure. Magic is possible and anything is up to debate for change. Those imaginary circumstances have sparked revolutions and put men on the moon.  Hell, even Einstein said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” Like a kid in a candy shop, I was conjuring up all sorts of circumstances that I could magically change about my time spent at TCU. In this imaginary TCU, would I make all students geniuses? That way we already knew everything we were being taught and we could just do whatever we wanted in our free time instead of study. Or would I have dinosaurs walk around campus so every walk to class is a fight for every student’s life? Would we all fly to class like freggin’ Peter Pan? 
After I realized that I did not wish to look like a buffoon in front of my class, I came up with a creative but relatively acceptable response. My peer’s answers were a bit boring, saying, “I’d change the parking” or “I’d change the girl to guy ratio.”  These were indeed the uninteresting responses our teacher was looking for, but despite knowing this, I decided to chip in my two cents anyway. I thought that if I could expand the conversation for a second, why not? So I raised my hand. 
“Okay, just to make sure… We were supposed to write down anything that we would magically change about our experience here at TCU right?”
My teacher responded, “Yep. Exactly.”
I proudly gave my answer: “Well, if I could change my experience in any way possible, I would like to have gone here 30 years ago.” 
I’m not sure why the teacher and my classmates laughed at my answer, but semantics aside, let me give an explanation. Instead of giving you outright reasons for why I would like to be a student at TCU thirty years ago, let me show you:  
The year is 1984 and Ronald Reagan is president. The U.S. economy is bumping. No one has a damn clue what in the world global warming is. There aren’t any cell phones, there’s no Internet, and there’s no laptops. You’re not constantly connected to Instagram, Facebook, or Snapchat. The TV has around fifty channels. The news is less biased, and there’s minute focus on celebrities. In other words, life is simple. You are forced to live in the moment. 
Fort Worth’s population is 442,250. There’s little traffic, not much construction, and far less crime than today. As Dallas is becoming a big business city while Fort Worth’s economy is sticking to its roots of ranching and oil. The Bass brothers, who are now major powerhouses in developing Fort Worth, haven’t even made their money yet. So the city isn’t really much of a city just yet.
Most citizens of Fort Worth are parochial, thick-accented, but don’t mind one bit. Surrounding areas around the little city are open, full of fresh air and untouched landscape. Pastures, cows, and farms are a common sight. The historic culture of the past has faded slightly, but is still going strong. Many students enrolled at TCU are local and their families own ranches within an hour or two of the campus. TCU is less refined; its administration doesn’t care so much about competing with other schools. It’s not trying to be rated higher up on the Princeton Review. Therefore, school isn’t so hard. Students still experience stress from time to time, but their lives depend upon their GPA.   
When school is dismissed and people are done studying, parties get rowdy. Oh, yes. Neither FSL nor Nationals is hounding the Greek system 24/7 because it just doesn’t work like that yet. They can’t find out what happened at a party because somebody posts a picture online. Fraternities and sororities can throw parties in their houses on campus, and TCU turns a blind eye because that’s what they’re supposed to do. No random walk-throughs at 11 p.m. on a Thursday night, no TCU police patrolling the Greek. Complete freedom to do what we’re supposed to do as college students: have fun. 
Well, at least, that’s the way my imagination sees it.
In reality, people were still complaining back in 1984, most likely saying that there wasn’t enough to do in Fort Worth or that there were too many cows. Either way, they were definitely whining. It’s just how humans behave. It’s not in our immediate nature to be content all the time. One minute we're mad that our shoes are tied too tight and the next we're complaining that the dog woke us up too early.
The trick is just to be grateful for what you’ve got and look at the bright side. Treat everyone well because you never know when somebody’s shoes are tied too tight. When something goes wrong, learn from it and move on. Don’t look back and think shoulda’, coulda’, woulda.’ And don’t be fooled by my picturesque tale about being a student in the 80’s either.
Sure, there were a few more enjoyable aspects to that time period at TCU, but a lot of things were more difficult, like having to go to the library and find sources for every single paper. How awful would that be? 
Anyways -- to come to a close, life wasn’t any easier or harder back in the day. The general human condition has always been the same and is a timeless event in and of itself. So whether be you a horned frog in the 80s or a horned frog in the present, just be happy you’re a horned frog at all.