goodbye summer (part 3)
I'm off to Virginia tomorrow, with classes starting next week! I included this dedication to Mom at the end of my application. I didn't want to look like I was seeking sympathy points, but it was important enough to me to risk it.
One of my mantras for this journey is, "I welcome any and all visitors to Richmond." Now, you may think this invitation doesn't apply to you, but it does. If you read this blog, then you're welcome to visit me (and I hope you do). Some of you are thinking that I haven't seen or spoken to you in a long time, and therefore I can't possibly be addressing you. But I am. Sincerely. I know who (almost) all of you are.
Another of my mantras for this entire process has been (and will continue to be), "Remember the dance class in kindergarten." That class is one of my biggest regrets in life. Maybe it isn't fair to think of it that way since I was just 4 or 5 at the time. But I do.
In kindergarten, I signed up for a dance class that met after school. At the end of the first class, we were given an assignment: come up with some kind of animal to imitate or a routine to do or something like that for the next day. I went home and obsessed about what I could do. I convinced myself that every idea I thought of was dumb. I anticipated how stupid I would look in front of everyone with my not-good-enough efforts. So I quit. After one day.
Dancing is the one thing I can say I was born to do. I had an innate talent for it, and all the flexibility, too. As you know, you need to start at something like that early. I never really had the chance to go back to it with any seriousness.
So now these decades later when I was working on my lengthy application, I needed a rallying cry to confront those same fears that held me back as a youngster (and still do). I repeated the "remember the dance class" (sort of like "remember the Alamo!") to myself whenever I thought my application ideas were lousy or felt like I may quit.
It's taken me this long to accept being afraid without letting it deter me. In these coming weeks I'll be terrified quite often. I'll have to present ideas and work product in front of discerning professors and dozens of bright, creative, talented kids (that's right, KIDS who weren't even a dirty thought back when I was in kindergarten). I'll be behind them in terms of computer savvy-ness and pop culture and so forth. This all scares me. But that's ok.
In the past weeks, many family members and friends have said they're proud of me. Also, people have told me that they think I'm brave for doing this. Maybe I am--I'm not sure. I know that amidst the changes that have been imposed on my life in the past few years, I had to make some change I wanted. I have no idea what is next, where I will work or live, whether I'll love this or hate it.
What I do know is that I won't regret this endeavor, because "this" is my grown-up equivalent of going back to the dance class. What happens next isn't all that important. I'll keep reminding myself that it's ok to be afraid, it's ok to look bad or fail or have things turn out different than what I expect. And many of you, no matter my location or vocation, will be cheering me on.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
One of my mantras for this journey is, "I welcome any and all visitors to Richmond." Now, you may think this invitation doesn't apply to you, but it does. If you read this blog, then you're welcome to visit me (and I hope you do). Some of you are thinking that I haven't seen or spoken to you in a long time, and therefore I can't possibly be addressing you. But I am. Sincerely. I know who (almost) all of you are.
Another of my mantras for this entire process has been (and will continue to be), "Remember the dance class in kindergarten." That class is one of my biggest regrets in life. Maybe it isn't fair to think of it that way since I was just 4 or 5 at the time. But I do.
In kindergarten, I signed up for a dance class that met after school. At the end of the first class, we were given an assignment: come up with some kind of animal to imitate or a routine to do or something like that for the next day. I went home and obsessed about what I could do. I convinced myself that every idea I thought of was dumb. I anticipated how stupid I would look in front of everyone with my not-good-enough efforts. So I quit. After one day.
Dancing is the one thing I can say I was born to do. I had an innate talent for it, and all the flexibility, too. As you know, you need to start at something like that early. I never really had the chance to go back to it with any seriousness.
So now these decades later when I was working on my lengthy application, I needed a rallying cry to confront those same fears that held me back as a youngster (and still do). I repeated the "remember the dance class" (sort of like "remember the Alamo!") to myself whenever I thought my application ideas were lousy or felt like I may quit.
It's taken me this long to accept being afraid without letting it deter me. In these coming weeks I'll be terrified quite often. I'll have to present ideas and work product in front of discerning professors and dozens of bright, creative, talented kids (that's right, KIDS who weren't even a dirty thought back when I was in kindergarten). I'll be behind them in terms of computer savvy-ness and pop culture and so forth. This all scares me. But that's ok.
In the past weeks, many family members and friends have said they're proud of me. Also, people have told me that they think I'm brave for doing this. Maybe I am--I'm not sure. I know that amidst the changes that have been imposed on my life in the past few years, I had to make some change I wanted. I have no idea what is next, where I will work or live, whether I'll love this or hate it.
What I do know is that I won't regret this endeavor, because "this" is my grown-up equivalent of going back to the dance class. What happens next isn't all that important. I'll keep reminding myself that it's ok to be afraid, it's ok to look bad or fail or have things turn out different than what I expect. And many of you, no matter my location or vocation, will be cheering me on.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
