Today I had one of those moments that actually makes you stop what you are doing to think. And not just think for 5 seconds, but really stop and think. These moments don't come around often enough for me, perhaps it's because I don't let them, but this morning I was graced with such a moment.
Yesterday I met with a professor about a paper I had written and was told I should try to get it published. As an aspiring writer, I was completely ecstatic. In fact, ecstatic doesn't even begin to describe it. I was over the moon with joy! This semester has really been a battle as far as keeping my confidence up about my writing. Anyway, I called my mom and told her. She was just as happy as I was and wanted to read it. I told my roommate. My fake sisters. A few other friends. Yet this morning, I still felt like something was missing. That there was someone important who still didn't know that great news: that maybe I could be a writer. That my hopes and dreams aren't completely extinguished. And then it hit me while I was drinking my morning coffee and re-reading my essay: I want to tell my dad. Which is impossible, I know, but even after three years I still have the compulsion to pick up the phone and give him a ring. I want to tell him that his daughter is actually doing something with her "worthless" English degree. That I'm going to be a success. Even though I'm sure he knew all those things when he died, I want to tell him again.
Time heels all wounds, I'm sure, but every once and a while, something comes along to rip the bandaid off and you have to start all over again.
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