They didn't respond right away.
Instead of saying what they must have been thinking—"Hell no you're not dropping out!"—they were good parents and probed for the reasons that had precipitated my decision.
I said something about not having a life, not being free.
We talked for a while, but they essentially told me "no," just in much nicer terms: stick it out Mattea. You can take a lighter credit load if you want, but finish your Associate's degree.
They also banned me from watching TV Land.
Kidding.
Later, having figured out how to have a life and be a college student at the same time, fresh out of a study abroad program, vision stoked, I announced to my parents that I'd be pursuing a Bachelor of Science.
My Mom cried.
Their flighty daughter was rising above her default mission of embracing hippy culture, living out of her car, and being a Jackie Kerouac minus the liver failure. ("I just can't stand it. I want to be myself," said Jack, as he dropped out of the military after dropping out of college.)
Of course, despite my good intentions starting out, I came close to jumping overboard again directly after graduating from undergrad as well. "Freedom" was my vocabulary word of senior year, and I fought one war after another figuring out how much freedom I should allow myself. Once again while studying abroad, I realized I did not have to live either a cookie cutter life or a cookie cutter faith, but I struggled with how to apply the realization. I came closer than ever to ditching my diploma. The more responsible version involved getting quickly licensed in massage therapy so that I could head to the West coast and work there and live out of my Volkswagen on the beach.
But then, during the last week of my last class right before graduation, my professor looked me in the eye (it was an online class so he didn't really look me in the eye, but it felt like he did) and told me my final paper—a theodicy, of all things—was graduate level. He left it at that. He didn't say I should go to graduate school. But I didn't need him to. I was at the kitchen counter, my elbows straddling my laptop. I slowly pressed my forehead into the palms of my hands. Thought about freedom and responsibility—my responsibility to myself, as well as to my faith and to anyone I would meet over the course of my lifetime.
Freedom is the presence of a choice. Once you make your choice, you are in bondage to it. What did I want to be in bondage to?
I packed up my hedonistic dreams, to be saved for a rainy day or a sleepless night, and applied to the Master of Public Health & Nutrition program.
The rest is history, now.
Thanks, Mom and Dad, for not letting me drop out of college in 2011. Thanks, Saints Bible Institute & Italy, for giving me vision. Thanks, Dr. Straub, for seeing something in me that I didn't see myself, and changing my life because of it. Thanks to everyone who has encouraged me through these years, especially the last two. Even thanks to the US government, for Pell Grants and work-study and such. Especially, thanks to my Grandpa Tom for funding the majority of my education so that I can graduate truly free, with zero debt.
Thanks to God for ordaining all this.
Sure I wrote the papers, crunched the numbers, and tear-stained the textbooks, but it's been a global community effort. Without my family, friends, and guides, I would have taken a much easier path. A much more freaking fun path. But I can't complain. Gosh, I may not have moved to California riding a wave of independence, but in between assignments and facing all my local demons head-on, I've floated in the Mediterranean and the Caribbean and the Finger Lakes and the Gulf Coast and the Atlantic.
When I look over my shoulder at the past 7 years, I can feel nothing but gratefulness, especially to all the people who've helped me on my feet.
No comments:
Post a Comment