It’s been a looong, painful week. I spent Sunday night battling it out on the softball field to claim a league championship for our team, TBD. By the time this champ got home and cleaned up (you don’t want to know how much one girl can sweat playing back-to-back championship softball games in 90+ degree heat), it was well past midnight.
Monday night found me (and my “tutor”) fighting my way through a finance chapter for my last undergrad class, math. Two o’clock a.m. found me walking in my door and almost passing out on the stairs from exhaustion.
Tuesday was, um, interesting. I went to a conference for work and was vastly entertained and somewhat offended by my fellow conference-goers (PSA: please do not, at a professional conference, close every contribution to the discussion with “Praise the Lord” nor should one advertise how they are “woefully underemployed” in the field for which the conference is dedicated). However, the conference was also in my old stomping grounds and I drove through a neighborhood of houses that I have long dreamed about. I was relaxed and mellow on the way home only to check my Blackberry as I was pulling in to my driveway to find an email from my math professor notifying that my work was incomplete and, unless I completed an entire chapter of work by noon the next day, I would not pass. By not passing, I would not graduate. This, my friends, wasn’t an option. Plane tickets have been purchased, reservations made, announcements mailed.
So, I did what any rational woman would do…I had a massive – though short-lived – come apart, pulled up my big girl panties and headed in to campus to force my way through another math chapter. I reached my breaking point about 2 a.m. and decided, “it is what it is” and called it a night…or morning.
Fast forward to Wednesday afternoon. Grades were posted. Screams were heard. Tears were shed.
And honor cords were picked up.
It’s such a relief to know I’m done. I passed. I will have a degree conferred upon me in one week and I will walk across the stage at Wells Fargo arena in nine days and snatch that diploma cover (sans the diploma) right out of the my dean’s hands.
This was a hard-won victory, 18 years in the making. The endless hours of studying, the tears, the screams, the fights with professors and classmates…all worth it, in the end. This was my goal, my dream. Something I did for no one else but myself. It’s an accomplishment that no one can take away and one that, when I really think about it, makes me hold my head high knowing I fought for something so hard…