I’ve narrowed my grad school choices down to two.
Two schools. Two cities. Two different states, both in the Midwest. Equal scholarships. (Equal amounts of student debt looming. But let’s cruise right on by that for now.)
I know it’s an illusion that my life will now divide neatly, one way or the other. It’s not like one choice will be bad, and the other good. Both will be complex and challenging and fascinating and rewarding.
Both will test me. I’m hoping that both will unfreeze a part of me that’s been iced in for many years.
This is a huge turning point. And it’s also absolutely routine.
Every moment, our lives divide in this way.
As immortalized in the pre-goopy Gwyneth movie Sliding Doors, the difference between missing a train and catching a train can yield two completely distinct life paths.
Not that it’s ever really that binary. It’s just easier for our minds to grasp an idea broken into two neat chunks.
I’m trying not to get hung up on making “the right choice.” I’m relishing the opportunity to visit both cities, and to see which one gives me that live-wire feeling–the feeling that zapped me when I decided to apply to grad schools in the first place.
You know. That feeling of, “I’m about to blow up my whole life…But I think it might be OK.”
Photo by Gillie Rhodes via Creative Commons.
You might think it would be a gloomy place: the office where survivors of sexual assault go for therapy appointments. The phrase “rape crisis center” conjures images of institutional, grim rooms, with people sitting in the scuffed-up waiting area weeping quietly.
The Boston Area Rape Crisis Center is the opposite of that. Its waiting area is a bright, colorful space where clients can drink tea and relax on a comfy chair before seeing their therapist. It’s nothing fancy, but it feels safe and welcoming.
I’ve been volunteering at BARCC for a couple months, checking people in for their appointments. It’s rare to see anyone in obvious distress or in crisis mode. Most are composed when they come in to the office. Some are cheerful, and some are straining to appear so. Others are quiet, and hesitate to make eye contact. I only have their initials in the calendar, not their names.
When people come out of their appointments, they appear physically lighter. They move more easily. Sometimes their therapist will walk them out, and they’ll be laughing together.
Isn’t that the essence of healing? To walk out of a therapy session with a brighter aura, cracking up about something?
I haven’t done a fundraising walk for many years, but this spring, I’m jumping on board BARCC’s Walk for Change. I’ll share more about it as the date gets closer.
Their 24-hour hotline is 800-841-8371.
Learn more about the work they do in Boston and beyond.
Image: Laughter, by sanpani, via Creative Commons.