I think I barely got by with an A this semester. I handed in a draft of my final paper a week and a half ago and had to tie-in more of the semester readings.

I knew it wasn’t grounded that much in the readings, more of a leaping-off point. Truthfully, some of the readings were poignant yet – really starting to bore me, except for the last text we read.

I think we should have done more writing in between classes to keep the conversation going. Even though one of my professors made us do this extra work between classes, a reflection of the reading material and discussion each week, it was actually quite beneficial.

Also, some of my classmates annoyed me. I am feeling the age gap more. One of my classmates quit teaching after three years. She is probably 27 or 28.

I see and hear this more and more. If the position isn’t a perfect fit, people quit. It is like the have this ideal life transfixed in their mind and unless their real-life meets their ideal, they move on. Teaching may not have been a good fit for her, but I just hear this more and more.

I am concerned that people are not understanding that at work, you have to “work.” And work actually means exactly that. You may have to do things you don’t want to do. Doing things you only want to do is called a vacation. One that you usually have to earn through work.

Then when I was growing up, alongside my friends, many of us had two jobs. We had two jobs because we were earning and saving to get a car, maybe a new car, and have a place of our own. Being able to have an apartment without roommates was gigantic and oh so worthy of that second or third job.

I did a coffee shop gig for a year and a half or so, and I had to be there at 6am for the 630am opening. I worked until 130-2pm, and then some days I went to work at my second job in the evening until like 11pm. I was in my twenties, I could do it. We were all in our twenties, we could do it.

Was all my time at my jobs glorious? That would be no. But they paid decently enough at the time, and I could live on my own and pay for everything.

Work an ambition –

My prof also said I was a little ambitious with this paper. I was tackling probably too much in a small space. I kind of knew that but it interested me. I have a habit of tackling a bit too much, but with writing, that is why there are editors. HA!

And now the biggest ambitious medication of my lifetime – Trikafta. Each of the cell correctors is ambitious – but this one really tops it.

I have only been on Trikafta for a little more than a week, and I do not know how Trikafta will translate into numbers, but I do not hear a wheeze or a crackle in my lungs.

I feel when I take a deep breath and exhale hard, it is easier and much clearer. I am having very little CF symptoms. I Am not coughing very much at all, and I feel really good. Doing everyday activities seem easier. I have truly been in shock, and it may take some time to register all of this.

This is a shift. I can start to look out and see great possibilities, once the shock settles.

I am a dreamer. I believe in the impossible. Sometimes or often, I do not the details of how to set out or execute these dreams. But, what I do know is if one asks questions and keeps asking, eventually that empty space fills. The echo quiets. I will have to spend some time writing to ground myself.

I am unbelievably thankful. Grateful beyond. I have been given a gigantic gift that I cannot even encompass.

I say thank you to everyone and everything daily – I feel so grateful just to be here. I am also aware, because this is life, that there many unknowns to come. What I always hope is that I will have the strength to endure.

Much Love.

Happy Holidays.

The Road (a draft)

The road does not give in to
its secrets. The yellow and the white,
dashed, and solid, paved by workers,
our ancestors.

The waves of black climb up the
hillside, chased downward
by chestnut-red ravines. Curved
around the bend, and flushed-up
against the sunsets’ beams.

They literally laid the ground,
paved the way. Their ambitions
pushed up and through by the winds
of their father’s and mother’s dreams.

Beyond what they could
see; maybe what they should
see – Beyond the prism of their
own individual ability.

– TW