The heart rate monitor patiently chirped for my attention as I fumbled with my previously perfectly balanced Anthology of U.S. Women Writers. As I was breathless after three miles of jogging, I simply leaned the 1400 page monster against the blinking heart symbol. I already felt like I was having a heart attack. I didn't need some pretentious treadmill to confirm that for me. This was my life; running with an Aunt Lute Anthology that weighed enough to give me a substantial upper body workout along with my cardio.
Although I may have looked quite pretentious myself, I was simply continually trying to make space in my ever shortening days for class, work, homework, and exercise. At times, that translated to me running like a library thief. Yet, I was trying to do these things. Trying.
One year ago, I had almost given up on trying. I was on my "sabbatical from life", which I see now really only translated to my "I am going to quit and name it something else." I am now running and reading, but for all the strange stigma that may have been correlated with that, I have suddenly found myself in a better place than I had honestly ever been. My Winter Quarter grades have come in as a line of beautiful, beautiful A's, and my Spring Quarter is coming along in the same manner. I am in love with my classes, even almost Physics... a little. I am working a job that allows me to get moderate sleep, and even find time to do things for myself, like go out dancing every once in a while. Everything is finally nestled into a place where I can manage it, an environment in which I have my academic and social lives under a mostly balanced control. I have never felt so, well..successful.
I assume that this new found stability is the reason I get stabbing pains in my gut every time I look to the future. I am applying to schools in Britain, a dream I had always thought would stay dormant until now. I want to go. I want to move. Yet, I enjoy the feeling of finally being a stable adult. A new country would force me to begin again, uprooting all that I have fought to tie down over the course of a very difficult three years. My hands shake each time I even think about finishing my applications. I suppose my fear of failure sleeps as little as I do.
If I finish the applications and am not accepted anywhere, I will be crushed. If I submit my applications, get in, and then struggle, I will be crushed. I often thought that human beings, much like insects, can only take one or two good crushings before they become a streak on the carpet.
"I am going to quit and call it something else" Autumn would have backed down by now. She would have deemed the task of international relocation too risky, and then would have daydreamed about moving for the next twenty years. Wise Autumn will not do that. I have named her "Wise Autumn" because she is now wise to other parts of the world, or in other words she has seen some stuff. I will finish my applications. I have to. No matter how stable I may be for now, I will become less so if I don't take the opportunity to free fall into my potential. If I am crushed, then I am crushed. I have to use my fear as a challenging mechanism. Otherwise, I will end up being that girl who never wanted anything to change, so she finally graduated from college at the age of ninety-eight and lives in a two story house full of exotic birds. Or, something to that effect.
I suppose I am simply stating that I am not going to fall back into a pattern of self-destruction. I refuse to. I may be scared, but I am twice as stubborn. The last time I took a risk, I ended up four thousand miles from home and madly in love. Hitting send on an email is nothing. It is time to see exactly what I am made of. I could come out of this heartbroken, but I could also accomplish my most far-fetched childhood dream. I have come this far, and have everything I ever wanted teetering on the edge of a very steep cliff. I have entered The Big Leagues. Guess that would make me The Comeback Kid.
