...you got into Harvard?

"What? like it's hard?"-Elle Woods.

So often--SO so so often, I do really stupid things. It became a catch-phrase with my best friend in DC, whenever I would do one of these really stupid things, he'd say (affectionately), "...and you got into Harvard."

I forgot to screw in the gas tank lid on a rental car for a good few hours before someone brought it to my attention (I didn't even notice. Who knows  how long it would have stayed like that? Days? Weeks?)

"...and you got into Harvard"

Or when I couldn't fill up my water bottle from the drinking spout, and my friend suggested I open the top...

"...and you got into Harvard"

Or when I put in a work order because my door wasn't locking correctly. The repair guy asked to see my key, "well, the key won't do any good, cause it just won't lock when you shut the door." then he turned the deadbolt, and said, "you thought it locked automatically, huh?"
"It's moments like this I have to remind myself I got into this school."
The repair man chuckled, "You people can split an atom, but you can't figure out how to lock your own door."

Sometimes, in my blondest moments, I think, "how on earth did they let some dunce like me into this school?  Harvard Schmarvard."


But sometimes I'll be walking through campus, and get hit with this overwhelming rush of amazement and humility.
I live here. I will be attending this school. By some unbelievable, magnanimous, divine miracle (s), I got into Harvard, I am going to Harvard. With all my quirks, shortcomings, lack-of-knowledge, I have the opportunity to be a part of this incredible legacy, community, and education. I feel so incredibly blessed.

I can't even begin to describe my gratitude. Remarkable, ineffable amounts of gratitude.

Thank you to everyone who supported and encouraged this crazy dream. RP, for listening to the essay 86 times, and to every anxiety attack thereafter. To my mother, who never let me forget my (outlandish) dream, five years ago, to one day go to this school. My father, who at every chance reminds me I'm a fake imposter.

The Ed School Motto: Learn to Change the World.
I promise I will work as hard as I can to do exactly that, and to contribute to the legacy that's here.

Because for all my blonde moments later, I am so humbled, grateful, and thrilled! I am going to Harvard!

My Banana Split

Returning to dorm living has been an adjustment.  My room is at the very end of the hall. The only advantage is that it's right next to a secret stairwell exit to the street. But there are quite a few challenges. For instance, navigating the 47-step long trek down the hall to the bathroom. Not only the obvious frustration of late-night emergencies, but any normal excursion: you have to plan ahead --ie bring the toothbrush on the way to the shower--because it's a long trip down the hall and back if you forget something you need. 

There's also the problem of feeding myself, having nothing but a mini-fridge to my name. So far I've done pretty well on granola bars and leftovers, but admittedly, I'll steal and collect extra food from events and save it for future meals. 

Last night, I stole a muffin and a banana from institute. Gold--that's two meals! This morning, when packing my backpack for the day, I carefully put my water bottle in the main bag (because it frequently falls out of the side pocket) and I put the banana in the side pocket. I ate the muffin on the way out the door for breakfast, and looked forward to the banana for lunch. 

But when I arrived at work, my banana was gone! I imagined it lost somewhere in the underground. Somewhere between the shuffle of two rush-hour subway trains, and the walk through busy city centers, my banana was lying on the ground. Trampled and smooshed beneath the city--a pile of white-yellowish, sad, lonely goop. Or perhaps it'd had been stolen. I hope by someone who was hungry and really needed a banana. Cause I was hungry and really wanted a banana. 

At snack time, one of my little girls is always allergic to the camp snack (gluten), so we get her own snack out of her lunch box every day. She frequently brings bananas. So I told her the saga of my own lost banana this morning, "Somewhere between my house and camp, trampled by the masses of morning-traveling workers, lies a small pool of mushy banana." She gave me a solid, eight-year-old quizzical side-eye. The one that says, "I think you're trying to be funny, but I'm not quite sure how to react." As I kept describing the scene of what I imagined to be the fate of my banana, ("Maybe someone picked it up and put it in a smoothie, or maybe it's in some historic, freedom-trail trash can...") she finally cracked into a smile--borderline giggle territory. 

Successful child-rearing day. 

When I arrived home, tired and hungry, I went up my secret stairwell to get to my room. 

There, on the steps, right outside my dorm, was my banana! A little older, a little wiser, a little browner than the banana I'd left this morning. Worn by time, heat, and the anxiety of having felt abandoned, my little banana and I had both gained life experience today. It stared back at me from the stair--a glorious reunion. 

Sometimes the things you fear are lost forever, are right back where you started. 

Or you're just an idiot and drop things, essentially right on your own doorstep.

Either way, it was delicious.