I almost dropped out. I had the car running. I had the road home in my head. I knew which exits to take. I knew which gas station to stop at. I had it all planned.
I didn't leave. I stayed. Here's why.
I didn't want to explain. Not to my mom. Not to my dad. Not to the friend who helped me pack. Not to myself. I didn't want to say: “I couldn't do it.”
I didn't want to come back. I knew if I left, I'd never come back. I'd find a job. I'd start working. I'd tell myself I'd go back next year. I'd never go back.
I wanted to finish something. I've started a lot of things. I've quit a lot of things. This was the one thing I wanted to finish.
I was scared of being okay. That sounds wrong. I was scared that if I left, I'd be okay. I'd be fine. I'd work at the warehouse. I'd make money. I'd forget that I wanted more. I didn't want to forget.
I stayed for the professor who texted me. She didn't have to. I was one student in a hundred. She texted anyway. She asked if I was okay. I wasn't. But she asked.
I stayed for the guy who brought me coffee. He didn't have to. He was failing too. He brought me coffee anyway. We passed together. Not because we're smart. Because we showed up.
I stayed for the version of me that started this. The version that packed boxes. The version that drove six hours. The version that sat in the first class and thought: “I'm here.” I didn't want to let that version down.
I'm still here. Not because it's easy. Because I'm not done.
I didn't leave. I stayed. Here's why.
I didn't want to explain. Not to my mom. Not to my dad. Not to the friend who helped me pack. Not to myself. I didn't want to say: “I couldn't do it.”
I didn't want to come back. I knew if I left, I'd never come back. I'd find a job. I'd start working. I'd tell myself I'd go back next year. I'd never go back.
I wanted to finish something. I've started a lot of things. I've quit a lot of things. This was the one thing I wanted to finish.
I was scared of being okay. That sounds wrong. I was scared that if I left, I'd be okay. I'd be fine. I'd work at the warehouse. I'd make money. I'd forget that I wanted more. I didn't want to forget.
I stayed for the professor who texted me. She didn't have to. I was one student in a hundred. She texted anyway. She asked if I was okay. I wasn't. But she asked.
I stayed for the guy who brought me coffee. He didn't have to. He was failing too. He brought me coffee anyway. We passed together. Not because we're smart. Because we showed up.
I stayed for the version of me that started this. The version that packed boxes. The version that drove six hours. The version that sat in the first class and thought: “I'm here.” I didn't want to let that version down.
I'm still here. Not because it's easy. Because I'm not done.
