Not with that attitude, you won't!

This is a true story.
About a month ago I was reading a short story with my freshmen Pre-AP kids. We had been working pretty diligently for the class period, but I really did not see the point in starting a new chapter, discussion, etc. so close to the bell. I announce to the class that there is no way that we can finish today. And then I hear it. A kid that is way too smart for his own good says, "Not with that attitude, Ms. Son!" He was funny, and this has since become his tag line. I would be lying if I said that it had not become mine as well.

Then, about two weeks ago I was at a conference in Austin. I was coming out of the last session of the day and my eyeballs literally hurt. As I turned my phone back on, I see an email in my inbox from a program that seemed pretty nonspecific. I open the email, and it's from NYU. I had already gotten quite alright with not getting into graduate school, but I won't lie; NYU was my top pick. The day I got that rejection letter, I pretty much sank in a hole for 24 hours. So, you can imagine how shocked I was to get an email from NYU telling me that I was being considered for another program... one that feeds into doctoral program(s).

Now, the more I read about it, swallowing and digesting every last bit of information I can find about this program, the more I understand just how naive I had been about applying for graduate school this past fall. Maybe there are no accidents; I've never really been a huge believer in fate, or destiny, or the universe dropping big hints in our laps... But, for about 72 hours, I started to get a little superstitious about "what does it all mean" in regards to this opportunity.

But after that, I just kind of went on living my life.

I mean, yes I would love to live in New York, and I want this. Bad. But I seriously considered just sitting on the invitation as means of recapturing some of the pride that I lost this fall. Just chalk it all up to a lesson I've learned about bravado and bullshit, (mainly that I need to lose both), and not put myself out there again.

And then I thought, "What a coward."

I started to think about regret. People might tell you that there is dignity in regret and that we all grow from our mistakes... yeah, it's crap. All of it. Regret is for people that would rather hold their pride close to them like their mother's dress or a wooby. What I would like to say to those people is, "How brave do you think you are? Now how brave do you hope others think you are?" Because the truth is: regret is for cowards.

I have regrets... but I hope that the majority of them stem from situations that make sense only because I have information now that makes them illuminate something that was once dark, cryptic. I don't wear them like badges of honor. I don't wear them as a scarlet letter, either. I just refuse to knowingly engage in decisions that I can actually see the regret in foresight, rather than hindsight and then have the audacity to lie to myself and say, "I'll be a better person for it. It's better this way... the not knowing" That is when you immediately go from sincere to full of shit. "Who are you kidding?"

This is a question I ask myself constantly.
So I sent off the personal statement. Today, in fact.

Because here's the thing: it doesn't matter if I get in or not. What matters is that I'm not embarrassed or ashamed anymore if I do or don't. I don't care who knows that I applied a second time around. I don't care who knows that I applied to seven graduate schools this fall and was rejected by all of them. And if I don't get into this program, then that will be just fine, too. Because this time I'm not going to make excuses or apologies. For anything.

So maybe I don't get in. Or maybe I do. I just couldn't let my pride get the best of me this time around, knowing that I would always regret, and that I would never be able to fully convince myself that I was justified in taking pride from my cowardice. I'm not going to take that hard road out of fear and pat myself on the back for being so brave to walk away from something so amazing. Because if I did, there would be this cutting voice of a fifteen year old in the back of my mind shouting, "Not with that attitude, you won't."

And the real pain-in-the-ass realization: the fifteen year old is right.