Yesterday, I had an experience that was nothing like I thought it would be.
For the first time in 22 years, I was done with school, with no immediate plans to return.
I had all the graduation festivities in May, but still had a History class to take. Not that I hadn't tried to take it. I had signed up for it during several different semesters and had attempted to test out of it a few weeks before my move to LA. Each of those endeavors had fallen through. So there I was, venturing into the working world with my mind (and stress level) still firmly connected to college.
Having already failed the test once, I was leery to commit to taking it a second time. If I failed this time, I'd have to wait 6 months for another shot. But finally, I committed to do it. I signed up for a time and studied day and night for a week and a half. And I passed by the small margin of 5 points.
I walked out of the testing center as an official college graduate. Being the dramatic person that I am, my immediate reaction was to cry and exclaim how bright the sunshine was and how the birds were singing louder and how the air smelled sweeter. But that wasn't really true.. I stepped out onto a crowded city street during a bizarre thunderstorm. So I just cried happy tears, called my mom, and then went home to make deviled eggs for our church picnic.
My life didn't change drastically. I didn't have a keener sense of smell. And I didn't stand up straighter as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
Instead, I simply felt proud of myself because I had accomplished something I told myself I was going to accomplish.
Sometimes, that's what life is about. It isn't about the dramatic flair of sunshine or exclaiming that your life is immediately changed. Instead, it is those victories that you work long and hard at (and fail at once or twice). It's the times when you give yourself a high five for succeeding before deciding what you want to accomplish next.
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