Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Rejection & Metamorphosis.

Unless you've new to the blog (or not following me on Twitter), you know about it.
The freakin' GRE.
The one I need to take in order to apply to graduate school so I can be there for real. (I'm only there for fake now-I'm non-matric). The one that has caused me to go back and do math- quadratic equations and geometry and other horrors I do not ever wish to contemplate ever ever again, as long as I shall live. Sorry, future children, but once you hit seventh grade, your dad will be helping you with your math homework. 

I was supposed to take the GRE on Monday. This post was supposed to be something totally different- like about how my WIP just upped and decided to rebel against me, and how my MC has suddenly lost quite a few years, and how I may possibly be writing a series now. Or any and all of the random fascinating things that came up that I wanted to discuss with you.

But then Monday happened. 
The part of Monday where the guy at the testing center told me that since my license was expired, I wouldn't be able to take the test. That my student ID (with a signature and a picture on it, mind you), would not be enough, that I would need my passport, which meant that I wouldn't be able to take the GRE, and would have to reschedule (and repay). Which meant that I might not be able to take the GRE in time for applications, thereby pushing off getting into graduate school ANOTHER year, bringing that up to the grand total of three years. (Yes, I finished undergrad reallly early. No, it still sucks.)
The part of Monday where I managed not to cry until I got out of the elevator and on to one of the busiest streets in my city. The part of Monday where I walked down the street and cried on the phone to my Mom, asking her how many times things would have to blow up in my face before something worked out. The part of Monday where I sat on the subway on the way home, tear-stained, while a creepy old guy tried to talk to me. The part of Monday where I nearly got knocked over walking home by some idiot who thought shoving by people on an icy sidewalk was a super intelligent thing to do.
The part of Monday where my normal optimistic, everything's-coming-up-sunshine-and-rainbows attitude went on a vacation.

Y'all, it sucked. 
To quote an old coworker, it sucked big donkey balls. 

At first, I was just sad. Stressed out. Disappointed. Dejected.

Then I got mad. 
I was mad at everyone- at the idiot at the testing center, for not letting me in. At his stupid  manager, who also said no. At every graduate school application that needed the GRE. 
At myself. 
For bringing an expired licence and not her freakin' passport. 

At everybody and nobody, because somehow everyone else's life was just WORKING OUT, while mine was still incapable of doing any such a thing, regardless of what people think.

So then I moped in my bed, and listened to The Piano Guys on repeat. I ate peanut butter and chocolate chips. I angry crocheted. I let my littlest sister hug me and tell me that everything was going to get better, even though I didn't believe her. I emailed the people who I told I would email. I went into work today, and told them what happened without bursting into tears. 

I put on my stupid big-girl pants, even though they itch and smell kind of funny. Even though I would rather mope around in my woe-is-me stained pajama pants. 

Because I know things will work out.
That one day, this will be an amusing anecdote, to add to the collection of other now-amusing anecdotes. 
That this, for some reason that I very much do not understand at all, needed to happen to me. At this time, in this place, at this moment of my life. That I needed to learn something from it.
That in the end, there was a supremely excellent reason for things not working out.
For all those people who said no.
For all the people who will say no.
For everyone who made me cry, for everyone who made my heart shatter.
For every time I wondered if I would ever make it out to the other side okay.
For every time I doubted myself, and every time someone made me doubt myself.
For every sneer, every derisive laugh, every eye-roll.
For every 'you're too young', for every 'you're not good enough', for every 'we don't want you'.

For every time it happened to you. For every time someone said something mean, for every time you wondered if you were crazy for going after your dreams. For every time you wondered if they were right, and you should stop fooling around, and let go.

I wish I could be the ever-calm, all-knowing one who can tell you why it all happened. That could tell me why I need to keep on hearing no. That could tell us all when things will finally fall into place. 

I wish I could be. But I'm not.

But I can tell you something that I once heard from a mentor.
When a caterpillar crawls into it's cocoon, it goes through hell before it becomes a butterfly. It's not just one of these stretch and regroup kind of unpleasant experiences. A caterpillar has to completely dissolve before it can become a butterfly. 
Metamorphosis is never a comfortable process. 
It hurts. 
It will tear you down, and nearly destroy you before you build yourself back up.

But the light at the end of the tunnel isn't an oncoming train.
I promise.

So hang on there. 
Keep going.
Keep writing.
Keep creating. 
Keep dreaming. 
Keep loving.
Keep trying.
Keep hoping.
Keep shining.

Keep shining, love. Keep shining. 

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