I've been afraid to say it out loud. I've talked to a few people about my first week of school, but I've chosen my words carefully. My classes are really interesting, I say. I'm grateful to have weekends to study, I tell to anyone who will listen. But those are only parts of the truth. Wait for it--
I'M DOING REALLY WELL AND I'M SO PROUD OF MYSELF I COULD CRY.
There, I said it. Whew.
I'm fully aware that it has only been a week. The first week of school, of a new term and my third year of college. I fell to my knees and crawled here. But I've arrived and this feels new. This isn't a stroke of luck, or because others have carried me on their
backs to be dumped here. My hands and knees are bloody and callused. But I have stood and
it is on my own.
That is why I don't need to tell everyone what this feels like. It's mine.
One of my professors asked us the first day of class, how did you come to be here?
I didn't know. Or rather, I thought it had simply happened to me.
Since then, I have changed my mind. I have made one choice everyday of my life:
That I should live to see the next one.
And every once in a while I have a good day, where I make a bigger choice than the day before. I'm taking as many credits as PSU will allow me to enroll in and I'm going for it. It is absolutely, terrifyingly, delicious.
Did I mention I'm dancing again?
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