23 was a hard year for me. Freshly 24 (though I feel like I've been this age for months, feels like I've been going on 60 for years), I find myself looking back on the last 365 days. This time last year I was fresh in the grief of suddenly losing my beloved aunt, and in the midst of great turmoil in my job. I was staring down the barrel of, finally, the last year of my drawn out degree, and ready to be done with it all.
The following months were akin to when you try to climb a snowbank. You try to put your feet in the spot you think is sturdiest, only to find all the snow shifting from under your feet as you put the weight of your trust in and on it, sinking waist-deep into the snow. The trouble at work only grew worse, and I took on far more responsibility than ever should have been an option. What should have been a standard three-class term became a depth of sticky snow I got stuck in. I could prioritize my classes and let my beloved department fall apart around me, or I could keep the show going and give up on my classes. Neither were a good option. I regret being in the position to make that choice at all. I failed two of my classes as a result, just scraping by into convocation.
But I did convocate! Six years of struggle led to a proud walk across a stage, a wave to my conductor and a hug from one of my favourite profs. Bachelor of Music Honours, a piece of paper to be proud of and a few letters to tack on to my email signature. We threw a party, and I got to bask in my own accomplishment for maybe a week.
The deadline to apply to enter my sequential degree had come and gone without fanfare, and my notice, thanks to the turmoil in the department. Shortly after convocation I found myself with a void in front of me where my future should have been, the path I'd been banking on for years having slipped away. Chasing emails and playing phone tag, trying to carve something back into the new void took up the bulk of my summer.
I remember telling my mom shortly after I received my degree that I felt like I finally had my feet back under me, I was ready and able to take on whatever would come next, and in someways it feels like the universe took that as a little challenge. I made the sudden choice to move four hours away from home to a new university and program, to live in a city where I knew absolutely no one, to try my hand again at a full course load, which I'd never been able to achieve before.
Achieve I did. It was hard, but not nearly as hard as I had expected. I got rolled a little when the void had appeared, but what I'd told my mother about being ready was true. I cut a new path into my void with no expectations, and I cannot believe that I've come out unscathed. In fact, I've come out better. I achieved great marks in all my classes, even when I was scared of failing. I've never done so consistently well in my university career, especially impressive considering I've done so with five classes, some student-teaching, an ensemble, and private lessons, never mind the massive change I'd made. My mental health is back where it hasn't been for the better part of a decade.
I've been looking in the metaphorical mirror for the last six years and haven't been able to recognize myself hardly at all. I've been so ashamed of who I've become, how little I feel I've been able to do. I happened across my grades at supper today, and it felt like looking in the mirror and seeing my own reflection again. I recognize myself. Who I am today is who I used to be, not who I've been. Capable. Creative. Busy. Sometimes even happy. I wish I could take this reflection back to who I had become. I wish I could show her, in the moments where she questioned if she'd ever get better, get back to herself, this proof that she would. I wish I could show her, in all of the times she has felt so stupid, these grades, tell her that I've felt that too but there is objective proof that's not the truth. I wish I could show her this path through the void, under my feet, and have her look back across what she's traversed, show her that she's not nearly so small and so afraid as she feels.
The thing I should be proudest about this year is probably my degree. It was a lot of work, took a lot of awful years to achieve, and I am proud of it. But not nearly as proud as I am of myself and these last four months, even setting the grades aside. I've accomplished more than I had come to believe myself possible of. I am so, genuinely, proud of who I am as I sit here writing this. 23 was hard, and I came out on top, came out the other side so much better than I went in. So, here's to the challenges of 24!
