One of my journalism professors from last semester made a comment when our paths crossed on campus yesterday that has had me thinking ever since. It wasn’t anything derogatory or complimentary; it wasn’t accusatory or conciliatory; it was more along the lines of, “Some weather we’re having lately?” Except it wasn’t that. She said, “Only ten weeks until graduation.” Mine obviously, not hers.
It’s nice to know that I have made a sufficient impression on her that she not only remembers my name, but also that I am graduating this spring. That she remembers me doesn’t surprise me, most of my professors do - I participate in my education. That she remembers when I am graduating is a bonus, but again it’s not what has caused this flood of self-analysis. It has everything to do with the text of her statement. It had a more profound effect than she could ever know.
Ten weeks. This, my last undergraduate semester is already one third gone. And I’m still here. No crises, no self-destruction and I am certainly not resting on my laurels. If anything, I have stepped it up a notch or two, taking two classes (six units) beyond what is “good enough” to graduate. And that, I think, is key - good enough isn’t good enough. As a matter of fact, there is precious little that can stop me now. May 26 at 2 p.m., I march.
And then a whole new adventure begins. Some trepidation? Sure, it’s part of the deal. But I can wait because before that journey begins, I have to finish this one. I’m in no hurry. The best part lies just ahead. Hell, I’ve dragged it out more than 25 years; I can wait ten more weeks. There are many, many lessons I’ve learned the hard way, through trial and error. One is that if I take my eye off the ball, I’ll surely miss. If I rush to fast toward that light at the end of the tunnel, it will blind me.