Wise son, glad father;
stupid son, sad mother.
Proverbs 10:1 (the Message)
The edge of a cliff, with an untested parachute. Behind the wheel of a car with no driving experience. Ordering from a menu written in Japanese. The moment before saying “I do.” I could construct almost endless word pictures to describe the feeling of this situation, the delicate indecision of balancing, waiting, and wondering.
Sure, I’ve seen friends graduate and move on, making their new lives as they see fit. I’ve seen adults—not counting myself among them yet, although I graduate days before my 22nd birthday—moving through a cycle of workdays and weekends, their pace unfamiliar to my academic-calendar mindset.
In short, I stand, looking at the opportunity of a lifetime. The next two months will define my next five years. The experience reminds me of graduating from high school. Suddenly, at 18, picking a college, a major, what classes to take. I wondered then: How can I guess what future-me will thrive on? The weight of it bore me down, worried my every judgment.
Now I know that any decision can be unmade. Having switched majors three times and transferred schools once, insecurity has become a familiar companion. I’ve grown accustomed to wondering, to deciding with less evidence than a scientist’s mind desires.
And it’s alright, because living as a human means not seeing the future. It’s squeezing eyes shut and stepping off the edge. It’s turning the key, hearing the engine roar to life. It’s pointing to an item and seeing the result. It’s looking into his eyes, feeling the cool, weighty ring, and saying, “Yes” forever.
On a different note:
Fill in the blank: I am an expert in…