It has taken me a long time to settle in and attempt to consolidate my thoughts on this summer. I’ve hovered my fingers over the keyboard before countless stark Word documents, but I always skittishly distract myself with Facebook before I can begin typing.
The problem is not a lack of things to say – it’s too much.
How does one begin to transcribe an experience like this one? To call it “life-changing” would be unfairly cliché, and not entirely true. It didn’t change my life: It changed me.
I’ve always been a helpless control freak. I can’t count how many times I’ve complained, “I just hate that I don’t know what’s going to happen.” Coincidentally, my obsession with exercising control over my life manifested itself for years in a phobia of flying. If you’ve followed my summer adventures at all, you know I’ve managed to let that go.
I think that was the beginning of my transformation – I learned one flight at a time that surrendering control is necessary sometimes (otherwise you can't go to Vegas).
I applied for this internship in October and didn’t get my offer until April. For almost six whole months, I thought about how badly I wanted this every single day. I remember sipping a Yellow Hammer in Gallette’s on a warm Friday afternoon when I got the call, and I cried for the whole rest of the night: It was one of the first times in my life I experienced the ‘dream come true’ feeling.
That feeling only intensified this summer with each passing day. While securing this internship is still reminiscent of some incredibly serendipitous fluke, it’s almost like getting a Range Rover for your first car: It’s amazing, obviously, but where are you going to go from there? Southwest is the Range Rover of jobs. You can’t really do better.
As much fun as I've had, any free time that wasn’t spent traveling or roaming Dallas was devoted to worrying about the fact that full-time employment at a company this competitive is a long-shot. I was lying in bed last night thinking about a few hard goodbyes I’ve had to make, and felt my chest tighten. I just hate that I don’t know what’s going to happen, I thought to myself, all too familiarly.
I read a phrase the other day—as I drowned in uncertainty and insecurity—that was eerily appropriate, almost like I was fated to notice it.
Que sera, sera: “What will be, will be.” (Or, if you’re a Texan, “Queso-ra, sera.”)
I’ve always struggled with the idea of “God’s plan,” but the comforting consolation that there’s a path before each and every one of us is the only thing that allows me to let go of the reigns. On my best days, it’s difficult. On my worst, it’s impossible.
That single phrase afforded me a brief transcendent moment. I truly believe each step that’s led me here was intentional. I also believe I’m supposed to spend nine more glorious collegiate months in Alabama, because I still have some growing to do. Maybe it’s all a big, coincidental accident. But maybe it’s not.
It’s important to trust you’ll end up where you need to be, and devote yourself to work for it every single day. Don’t get me wrong: Luck is necessary and timing is difficult. Life doesn’t always follow a logical, sequential pattern, and sometimes things end before you’re ready to say goodbye. But it is inescapably critical to remember that what will be, will be.
Que sera, sera.
The fine print: