Moment

Let me tell you a story.

It’s not a very good story. It’s about shame and guilt and not pulling your weight and doing what you want to do instead of what you should do.

But then again, it’s not a very bad story. Not many bad stories have happy endings.

Four years ago I was a freshman in college. I still can’t believe that when I say it – they say (whoever that all-knowing they are) your college years fly by, and it isn’t until you’re standing on the other side of them that you realize how true that is. But four years ago today I was preparing to move into my first college dorm room with my first college roommate to experience my first year of college education. At this point, I was probably to the point where I was so nervous that I wasn’t eating, laying on the couch watching a documentary about PIXAR and trying not to look at the growing heap of dorm things under the upstairs window. I was putting on the happy face and telling people how excited I was, when my insides wouldn’t stop moving and my hands hadn’t stopped shaking in three days.

But move in I did. Settle in I did. I remember on the second day – when my parents had gone home until that afternoon and my roommate’s family had taken her out somewhere – I took my campus map and walked around to all the buildings to find where my classes would be. And I remember feeling so proud of such an independent move. And as I walked around by myself, dreading the “getting started” group meeting that would come later after the required chapel services that I came to despise as my four years progressed, I felt very grown-up.

As the year progressed I realized that homework wasn’t much fun at all, and that reading novels was. I stayed up late (never later than my nose-to-the-grindstone roommate, only twice in all three years of living with her) but not to study Politics or U.S. History – I chatted on Facebook and watched YouTube videos and amazed people with how many for-fun books I flew through that year. I was making the executive decisions in my life; nobody sat across the dinner table and said “no TV until you’ve studied.” And I felt very grown-up.

At the end of that first year I got a 2.9 grade-point-average. I blew a four-digit-per-year scholarship, missed by three GPA points. And when my parents sat me down on their bed and threw out the words “student loans,” I realized for the first time that I was, whether I liked it or not, a grown-up.

I didn’t tell them for a week after I found out that I had lost my scholarship. Every time I thought about it, my stomach would sink with shame as I had let them down. They don’t ask for much; they don’t have outrageous expectations. But they ask that, in everything I do, I do my best. And I had let them down. And this wasn’t just my grades that we were talking about. It was Laziness – that old ghost who comes to visit me every now and then with his cousin Procrastination in tow, telling me that “later” is the same thing as “now,” it just means you get to do what you want sooner. And I had let them get the best of me. Again. When I finally told them about it – and for another year or so after that – they talked constantly of other scholarships, how to apply myself (which I knew how to do, I just chose not to), that they expected only my best and that was all they could ask. They truly meant the best for me and wanted me to succeed. But every time it came up, I would shut down. I refused to listen, because I brought up all that shame, all that guilt, and threw it right back up in my face. It wasn’t their fault: I never say if something like that bothers me, how were they to know that I felt that way? To them, though, it appeared as stubbornness, which made them talk even more. As is my custom, I let my emotions rise to a boil until it exploded with many tears and my heart screaming out, “I’M SORRY I’M NOT GOOD ENOUGH!!!!!!”

I went hunting for a legitimate, 9-to-5 job for the first time when I was 18. I didn’t have very far to look: in a few weeks I was hired at Kroger, which has been my steady summer and holiday employment for the past four years. When I am asked if I like my job, I respond that whether I like it or not doesn’t matter – I need my job, and so I come in every day and deal with misunderstandings and seemingly-stupid requests and obnoxious customers and straightening up the toy aisle which always seems to be a mess no matter how many times a day you put things back where they go. And while there are certainly other places I could go that pay more or might be more in line with something that I would like to do, I stick it out.

My dad talks all the time about a spirit of gratitude. He pressures us to look for something in every situation that brings our eyes up to heaven and pulls a “thank You Father” from our lips. And it’s only been in the last year or so that I’ve looked back on this frustrating, fearful, disgusting situation and seen something to be thankful for.

In the three years after I lost my scholarship, I didn’t get it back. I worked my butt off during semesters and summer classes, my final GPA being short of the scholarship marker by a percentage of a point. And while at first I considered my progress with a “when you try your best but don’t succeed” mindset, I’ve switched it around to considering the journey so much more important than the goal that I have in mind. Over the past three years I have begun to understand the benefits of working hard in all that you do. I understand now what it means to go looking for opportunities, not just sitting back and waiting for them to fall into your lap. I have been tired since May, because in between my regular work hours I have picked up three or four extra jobs that have kept me busy nearly all summer. But when I lay in bed at night and my muscles hurt and I think, “I have to get up and do the same thing tomorrow,” I remember that I am working myself out of a debt that I put myself into. And that renewed self-worth is so much sweeter than thinking that I am not good enough.

I see the value of a hard day’s work. I respect so much more the value of the dollar that I have earned. Through my time at Kroger I have learned so much about thinking on my feet and customer service and being part of a team and not letting the job affect the way I live my life.

Not to mention that I have met some of the most amazing people that I’ve ever had the privilege to know. They are my family now – my dysfunctional, grumpy, hard-working, through-thick-and-through-thin family.

I use my story a lot to encourage people who have fallen short, particularly students in a rat-race where grades are the most important factor. You, my friend, are NOT defined by these worldly things. Your actions, your transcript, your talents, your lack of talents, your house size, your salary – none of that defines you. You are not put into a category of “greater” or “lesser person” because of these things. There is something going on behind the scenes that is so much bigger than all of that, that you are part of; these earthly details are no more than just that – earthly. And they will all fade away.

Four years after I started college, I am finally to the point where I can call myself "adult." I am staring at the final leg of my higher education with a five-digit debt to chunk away at. I am contemplating moving out (eventually), maybe moving away (sometime), and seeing what this whole adult thing is all about. And the past four years of disappointment and hard work have prepared me so well for those next moves.