done being a downer

last day on main campus

Five years ago, I was seventeen and on top of the world. I had everything planned out. I was going to go to Point Loma, study nursing, sing my heart out, fall in love, get married. I knew where I was headed. I knew exactly what my life was going to look like.

And then I moved to Arizona.

And I met some of the most amazing people. And I lived with someone who would become my very best friend. And I skipped class and slept in and fell in love and got my heart broken into a million pieces and I cried and I prayed and I laughed and I never slept and somewhere along the way, I was twenty-two years old and a week and a half away from graduation.

I don't have any regrets. Well, that's not exactly true. I have very few regrets. I regret that I spent so much time loving someone who didn't love or respect me. I regret that I was unkind to several people when I was living in Dijon. And I regret that I wanted all of this to end so soon.

If I could do it over again, I would have gone to class more and studied harder, at least in my first two years. I would have laughed more. I would have traveled more. I would have spent more time outside. I would have spent less time caring about what people thought about me and more time caring about who I really was. I would have spent a year in France, though I probably wouldn't have made it out alive. I would have lived with Mariam all four years, because if it ain't broke, why would I bother trying to fix it? I would have taken more dance classes, even if they make my transcript look weak. I would have spent more time singing. I would have learned to say "no" much earlier.

But in the end, I'm glad the only time I ever spent in the SRC was that one morning that I tried to train on the elliptical and ending up throwing up in the Best C5 shower; working out wouldn't have helped my Chick-fil-A and Starbucks addictions. I'm glad I ran away to France to escape somewhere that was too full of memories I didn't want to keep. I'm glad that I adopted a wild dog who makes it nearly impossible for me to find a cheap apartment. And even though I would have loved studying English or music or French or theatre, I'm glad I picked something that made me pull all-nighters and go into stress comas; I'm glad that the people who love me most never let me underestimate myself.

For now, graduating feels like bungee jumping. I'm not sure that the rope can hold my weight. I'm scared I won't find a job. I'm even more terrified that I'll have to take a job that I hate. I'm worried I'll have to move home.

I'm worried that I'll fail...

...which is funny coming from a girl who failed BIO 202 and went on to graduate from nursing school.

I've failed and I've made mistakes and I've done things that embarrass me. But the most important thing I learned was how to get back up and fight it out. And I am so proud of that. I'm glad I learned how to fail and how to fight.

Graduation? Unemployment? Possible failure and humiliation? Sure, bring it on.

P.S. Mom, you were right. I shouldn't have given away my pink beach cruiser. How come you know everything?

Just applied for graduation...

Let's kick this pig.

I'm graduating way too soon. I feel like Rip Van Winkle's daughter, who took a nap while she was packing to move away to college and woke up four (oops, five) years later. All of a sudden, I want to rewind to when I had semesters' worth of classes ahead of me, because I don't feel quite ready to be a non-student yet. What are you if you're not a student? An adult? A grown-up? A member of the working class? When I walk across the stage on May 14th at 9 a.m., I'll be a graduate of ASU's College of Nursing and Health Innovation. And a month or two later, when I take my NCLEX, I'm planning on being a registered nurse. And even at twenty-two, I don't feel ready for it quite yet.

I'm scared that I won't get my dream job, or won't get a job at all. I'm scared that now that I've decided I want to give Arizona another shot, I won't be able to find a job here. I'm scared that I'll have to move to the middle of nowhere and I won't know anyone other than Vegas and I'll crash my car into a snowbank and no one will ever find me. Mostly, I'm scared that I won't make it until May. And if I do, I'm scared that it will have been a waste because then I'll be an unemployed loser who has to move back in with her parents and work retail after studying her brains out for the past four (oops, five) years.

I'm scared to even make wishes about my future for fear that they won't come true.

Even when life is scary and wants me to be older than I'm ready for, I've got you. The "you" that I've got varies from day to day, sometimes from minute to minute. I've got the "you" that I can call in the middle of the night, the "you" that bankrolls me, the "you" that sits with me while I pretend to study, the "you" that kisses me on the forehead when I'm stressed out, and most importantly, the "you" who takes up my whole bed at night, digs me out from the covers in the morning, and wags her tail when I get home from a 13-hour day.

And even if I have to live in a tent in my dad's backyard and work at McDonald's to pay my rent, I've got you. And really, truly, that's all I need. I'm happy with that.