Last week, I got a call from the college I was supposed to be attending and they were talking about returning the money my mom had already paid, as well as whether or not I was certain I wouldn’t be attending. “We want you to have all the necessary information in order to make the decision that is best for you.”
“I know we said you weren’t getting in-state rate, but you are eligible for it. The paperwork was just behind, I’m so sorry.”
I had to explain that while I was appreciative of that, even with in-state rates, I cannot afford university. I am not eligible for financial aid or a student loan, so I’m essentially at a loss.
This phone call was closure.
This phone call was me officially closing that chapter of life.
As I put the phone down, I felt a mixture of things; relief, because it was over, but also a sense of loss. I openly admit, I sat and cried. Now I knew there was no chance of some big change or a miracle last minute that would send me off in the fall.
I can honestly say I have never felt so afraid in my life.
I didn’t know what was going to happen, and I still don’t. I flick back and forth between feeling brave and certain to feeling absolutely terrified and unsure of where to go from here.
However, I am aware of the old saying, “When one door closes, another door opens.” But when all doors seemed to be locked and barricaded, that’s when you’ve got to look for a window to repel out of. So that’s what I’m going to do.
Last week, I went to go see Fall Out Boy at a venue that has played a huge part in my story. I have always wanted to see them live, and had never had the chance. Seeing them was amazing, and as I looked up at the stage and saw the symbols and the question that run through my mind constantly, I felt certain.
I was so content in that moment, so sure that everything was going to be okay, that I don’t even know how to explain it.
That concert hit at the right time, as it had only been that morning that I’d finally shut the door.
To be in the crowd and not the press pit for the first time in a long time made all the difference I think. I got shoved and pushed, which I’ve not experienced for a long time. I jumped until my legs ached and sang at the top of my lungs. Everything was on fire, and that familiarity, that feeling of youth enveloped me, and it felt like certainty.
It hit me that when you get shoved at a concert, you don’t break down and leave, you shake it off or you shove back to stand your ground and carry on with what you were doing; listening to the music, jumping, singing, watching in awe, and letting yourself get lost.
The closure the school provided me with was a good thing. They were really sweet about it, and by giving me that chance to say, “No, I can’t,” at first, I was sad, but then I felt empowered.
No longer will the weight of, “Well, something could change,” or “Something could happen,” weigh me down. Now, I can focus on the task at hand; chasing my dreams as far as I can.
I guess I never really thought about it, but to do this, it’s going to take gumption. It’s going to take some sort of gutsy, resourceful determination to get where I want to be. I run my life, and it’s about time I start acting like it.
It’s going to be difficult, and it’s probably going to hurt, but not more than not trying would.
So as I close the door on an old dream, it’s time to open the window tinted with gumption on the other side of the room and start repelling down the side of the building.