I was an eager child. I remember my first day of preschool, standing in front of a tub of dried beans, playing with a mechanical device that scooped the beans up and then dumped them back into the tub, simply displacing the beans in the same container for all eternity. For who knows how long I played in the thousands of beans, scooping and dropping, over and over. It’s funny how life sometimes seems that way. However, I soon became tired of the dried beans and answering questions that were in the same vein as “Which one is the circle? What color is the circle?” I knew what a circle was and I knew my colors. I was ready for kindergarten, grade school, middle school, and eventually high school. I was eager.
While in high school, my teachers warned us all that college was nothing more than a death trap, the real world where only the strong came out somewhat alive. Upon arriving on my campus, I was shocked. Even as I begin to prepare for my final year of my undergraduate studies, I am amazed and eternally thankful for professors that have taken me in and helped me along the way. Before this time in history, I was rightfully terrified, yet eager. Eager to get through my first year, eager to get through my second year, and eager to complete my third year.
Now as I stand somewhat close to the edge of the end of my college days, I am slowly learning to slow down and to tame the eager beast. Once I walk across the stage next May and receive my diploma, I truly believe that the real world will greet me at the bottom of the narrow stairs. Maybe, I could be wrong. Regardless, this summer has been christened “Graduate School Summer.” I’ve been thinking about my life, my choices, and where I will go after leaving Georgetown. Even if I am not accepted to any of the graduate programs I apply to, I will choose to teach secondary grades English, a dream worth living. I care about learners and students, I care about literature, and I care about discovering new ideas. Maybe that is why I was and still am a ridiculously eager child, with her head buried in a mass of stale and new pages.