I’ve never been average. When I was in high school, I was involved in clubs both on campus and in the community. I played varsity volleyball. I was getting college credit for my coursework. Transitioning to college with a hefty scholarship did not change that. I quickly found my place in several organizations at UWF and became involved with volunteer work that serves the whole southeastern United States. I adopted two minors to supplement my major. I managed to procure a low-level job in the career field I am pursuing.
It was the fast-track to recognition in and beyond the classroom. A summer internship was the next logical step.
I applied to seven different locations: television news stations, newspapers and public media stations. Among them, my dream job.
I spent hours constructing and perfecting resumes and cover letters, documents that outlined the countless sleepless nights I have spent becoming the well-rounded person I believe myself to be.
After sending them off, I waited patiently for my life to change. Some called to do interviews, which I handled with poise and honesty. One of those interviews was with my dream job. Constantly refreshing my email inbox, I was preparing to humbly accept an offer from an impressive agency.
Turns out, I was waiting in vain. No acceptance letters. No emails with “Congratulations” as the subject. No summer internships.
My whole plan seemed to be falling apart. There would be no summer in New York or Cleveland. There would be no chance to demonstrate my diligence to invaluable professional contacts. Instead, I would be going home.
Throughout my life, failure and I have seldom met. The looming possibility of being 0-7 never left my mind, but I expected to conquer it as I usually did. I was wrong. Here I was, looking failure directly in the eyes.
But, I think I’m okay.
I only cried maybe twice, which is monumental. I missed out on the chance to intern for my dream job. My dream job, people. The reason? They said I was “too young.” They said they usually take people with “another internship already under their belt.”
Their criteria was something that was out of my control, but my summer was now mine to manipulate.
Missing out, means opting-in to seeing my favorite band perform in April, to attending the wedding of an old friend in May, to learning Italian with my father, to going on impromptu shopping trips with my mother, and to reading all the books I didn’t get to during the academic year.
I get another chance at doing the things I thought I would never again have time for.
It means the world will still be waiting for me next summer. It doesn’t mean my determination died or that my future is ruined. It means I wasn’t ready and that’s okay. It means someone else, seven someone-elses, got the internship of a lifetime.
I’m proud of those strangers the same way I am proud of myself for seeing the silver-lining in this disaster. I confronted the anxiety it brought and I won, like the level-headed woman I strive to be.
I’m face-to-face with failure, but we’re exchanging smiles. He’s handing me concert tickets and a foreign language. He’s not such a bad guy.