Here's the thing about wanting something so badly it consumes you, when it's a desire so real you can touch it and hug it and kiss it goodnight: when you don't get it, it destroys you.
It's like a star that falls from the sky and into your hands, and it seeps through your veins and into your blood and it becomes every part of you. And then you have to put it back in the sky. And it's the hardest thing you've ever done. And then you blame yourself; why did you lose the star? Did you say something that made the star realize it was better off somewhere else? Why did it fall from the sky and hit you in the head and why were you given the chance to hold starlight if, in the end, it was to be ripped away from you? And what kind of a thought is that? That star was never yours. And you can't lose something that doesn't belong to you.
I think self blame is the most cancerous and incapacitating feeling there is. It eats away at the good inside of us, cripples us from moving forward, and pulls our focus away from the best parts of us. Self Blame is Self Love's predator.
I've tried to be a fighter against Blame and Fear, to recognize that I'll never have to face more than what one day has to throw at me. I can handle today. And I can say that again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day after that.
But sometimes I give Blame and Fear visitation rights. Because sometimes one day -- one moment -- can absolutely wreck you for the unforeseeable future. And when you feel shattered and you don't know how to put yourself back together again, how can you handle everything else the world is demanding of you? If you're stuck in a moment that crushed you, how can you bear the weight of the next days, the next moments that are hard?
Listen, I'm going to stop being cryptic. I was a Simon Scholar finalist. This was something I wanted for months and months and months, a dream that has followed me around since last summer. Everyone had faith in me; so much of it that it flowed out of them and right into me and I had faith in myself, too. And I didn't get it. It's not the end of the world. It just felt that way when all I was left with was shattered hope.
I could say that I'm fine now; I mean for crying out loud, I'm Flower Girl! I'm Yellow Girl! I'm The Girl Who Always Wears Dresses And Is In Choir And Loves Swimming In The Ocean And Improvises The Most Artistic Symphonies Of Words When The English Teacher Calls On Me!!! It feels like people should be saying "That makes sense. Things were just too damn good for that girl who never stopped talking about how happy she was."
I digress. I could say that I'm fine now; that I've realized the hard truth of Life Goes On and that I've arrived at the grown up place of It's All In What You Make Of It. That would be the right thing to say; the characteristic thing to say. But sometimes what's real is more important than what's right. And what's real is that I wanted that scholarship so badly that I didn't leave any room for self forgiveness.
So I've had my Crushing Moment Cry and my Aftershock Cry and my Mid-Shower Where No One Can Hear Me Cry/Sob and my In The Middle Of Baking Cookies Cry and my Cry To Counselor/Friend/Choir Teacher, respectively. Hey, it makes sense! Things were too damn good.
This feels like it's getting too angsty. I am sad, yes; but I am so grateful. For all of it. The honor of being a finalist is huge. And thank God the Simon Family Foundation and I share the same view: that people are wonderful and strong and worthy of so much greatness.
And since I'm also Wants To Be An Author Girl, here's my last thought. This is just my very own character development. And if I know one thing about character arcs, it's this: they always make the story worth reading. And they always make the character better. Character arcs are where the growth happens. Character arcs, no matter how painful, lead you away from the horrible fear of oh God, what if I always feel this way? And straight into the self actualization you need. The kind that makes everything worth it. The kind that cancels out everything, until there's no room for anything but happiness.
And one more thought: the foundation made beautiful choices. Their new scholars are wonderful people who I love for their resilience and optimism and for everything else. I am thrilled for the foundation because they get to know these people.
I regretted my application for a moment last week. But I never will again; because the things I've learned -- the things I will gain -- are valuable.
