The First of the Last
And today it begins: The first day of my last semester of undergrad. The myriad of emotions that ran through me as I typed those words intoxicates me. The fist day of my last semester. Wow.
This journey began in the summer of 2015. I’d enrolled in two classes at a community college. You’ve seen the posts. You’ve heard my struggles. You know what this journey has taught me. You’ve seen me stand in my truth and find my way.
Accepting the challenge and journey of school has been far from easy. It wasn’t what I wanted but has been everything I needed. I am stronger. I am wiser. I am at peace. But the part that wows me the most is realizing that I am on the path to living the purpose God created me for.
You see, ever since He gave me the vision to tell stories, I’d thought that would be my sole purpose. I thought I’d write books on books on books and that would be it. (Books with purpose, of course.) However, writing and becoming a published author was the setup to the purpose. It was the foundation on which to build upon.
Writing and having books published have been pivotal in this scholastic journey, and in ways I have yet to see. As a future clinical psychologist and professor, one of the requirements/expectations is to have papers published. I have to know how to write effectively, to deliver a message that warrants discussion. I have to gather, assimilate, process, and disseminate information to help further research and understanding of the mind, behavior, psychological disorders, psychopathology, and other mental-health related issues. I do that writing about fictional characters. As a storyteller, I gather characters to evaluate, listen to their problems, process their information, and disseminate solutions to help better lives univer(soul)ly through their experiences. This is, as I like to say, using fictional characters to help understand humanistic behavior. Being a writer taught me patience and discipline. It taught me how to start what I finish. In many ways, becoming a writer prepared me for where I am right now.
I can’t remember who originally said these words, but T.D. Jakes comes to mind: “Nothing is ever wasted.” My life experiences–the inconspicuous to the overwhelmingly obvious–have all led me here. Nothing that I have experienced has, is, nor will be wasted. All of them are working together and conspiring with me to fulfill my ultimate purpose. I had to tackle writing in order to conquer my current phase. Writing is, in essence, psychological. In retrospect, I would not have made it here had I not gathered tools from each part of my journey.
I could go on and on but that is not the purpose of this post. As I said in the beginning, today I am simply celebrating the first day of my last semester of undergraduate school. I did not realize when I applied to my school that it was a liberal arts university. Though I love writing (as if you didn’t already know that), doing so academically was the second contributing factor in avoiding school for so many years. (Taking exams was number one.) Luckily, once getting the hang of writing in various formats, my despise for writing MLA- and APA-style papers began to dissipate. Can’t say I love them but they no longer feel like drudgery. And to top of my new-found appreciation of writing scientifically, this is the first semester where I have the opportunity to write more creatively. A professor and I are working on a didactic novel, and as you can see, my class list includes some interesting subjects. A heavy load, yes. A nice way to conclude this experience, also yes. Whatever the professors throw my way, I’m ready. Only 115 days to go…
Nothing is ever wasted.