Here I am, 2 ½ weeks from a long-awaited graduation, cramming a foreign language into two, online, summer semesters. Panic set in earlier this week when I scored a 35% on a practice exam. Poor, stupid me. I’ll fail. I’ll have to retake Spanish II. I’ll have to come up with the tuition and money for a tutor. I won’t graduate until January.
I remember the day, seven years ago, when everything changed. After betrayal encouraged me to wish a human being dead. To hope for it. To plot. And the unexpected twists and turns that led to forgiveness and an appreciation for life.
I remember the day I slouched on the sofa, baby-math book open on the coffee table. I can’t. I was never good at math. No. Pick up the pencil and try. And try. And try until it makes sense. Months later my instructor calls to tell me I received a perfect score on the final. That momentum got me through five more math classes.
I remember the night in “Commercial Design” when the impossible project stopped me cold. I can’t do this. God, I need help. I look at the blueprint again, the specifications. Of course it can be done. Start drawing. Two months later, the result was beautiful.
Spanish is just the current challenge. And beyond that, the reason for all of this effort–writing an unlikely story openly and with grace.
Easy. I just have to remember I’m not doing it alone.