Sometimes reminders of the past crop up in random ways. A friend’s daughter recently faced an unplanned setback and is contemplating her future. For me, it was a totally relatable experience. When I was her age, I too faced a crossroads in my path. I’ve faced a lot of crossroads in my path over the last 47 years. Somehow, though, I’ve noticed that I always end up in a place that seems like where I was meant to be. Growing up I had always been told that I could do anything I set my mind to. Given my present life experience, I’m not sure that is necessarily the case. My observation is that there are many external factors involved in life i.e., life does not always go according to MY plans. Apparently “life” doesn’t always get my memo. Even though our plans change, there is usually an opportunity to pursue our dreams, or a door opens to a different dream to pursue.

On the cusp of my twenties, I was a struggling biology major. I had never been particularly studious, however, I always managed to get good grades. When I was a freshman in college it quickly became apparent that I was going to need to spend a great deal more time studying to make reasonable grades. I was pulling plenty of C’s, which was new for me, and I didn’t relish the upcoming, more difficult classes I would need my sophomore year for a biology major. Science and math had always been a little more difficult for me. English was always a piece of cake – something my high school guidance counselor had noticed and led her to suggest I major in English. As I thought I knew what I wanted, though, I chose to ignore her advice and blaze my own trail. As I approached the end of my freshman year of college though, I realized I was going to have to change something AND it should probably be my major.

So, sophomore year, I switched to English. Always one to be preoccupied with my future, I determined I was going to be a writer. In-line with that goal, I set out to join the college newspaper staff. For my younger readers, newspapers used to be our primary source of the news. They were printed on flimsy, large-sized paper and the print would rub off on your hands. We didn’t carry smartphones. Our phones were plugged into the wall and weren’t overly smart. Many times, I would answer the phone not knowing who was on the other end and be unpleasantly surprised. The only way to block calls was to let them go to the answering machine, which was an actual machine hooked up to the phone via a cable or leave the handset off the cradle. Phones took calls and that was pretty much the extent of it. You had to TALK to the person on the other end, or not pick up the phone – there was none of this sending abbreviated messages, unless you had a pager, which I never did. Anyway, fall semester of my sophomore year I headed to the newspaper office. In a classroom off the newsroom filled to the brim with wannabe journalists, I proceeded to test my mettle in the art of writing news. They passed on me and I had failed. I was forlorn, especially given my ability to be overly melodramatic. My plan for my life, my future, was now officially derailed.

Given my failure, I could have given up on my plan. However, I continued to go to my English classes, enjoying all the writing I was now doing. There were few tests and a lot of papers. Incidentally, I found I could write papers in a few hours the night before they were due, usually while drinking my much-loved coffee. College is where I got a taste of coffee, and now, years later, I struggle with complete dependence on it, especially in the morning, for coherence. I was doing pretty well in my new major, and it seemed to be an excellent fit (that high school guidance counselor had actually been on to something.). I was less stressed and enjoying my new academic pursuit.

Spring semester of my sophomore year, I decided to make another go at the newspaper. I marked the date in my planner (once again – no smartphones). The try-out date rolled around, and I woke up that morning nervous with anticipation. I could barely get down my coffee. We were in the midst of a large snowstorm and extreme cold. What to do? I called the newspaper, and they did reaffirm that they were still going on with the try-outs that day. No guarantee that I would make it, but I decided the potential reward outweighed the alternative of never knowing whether I could be a journalist. I bundled up and hiked through the abundant snow and cold, arriving frozen yet determined to the newsroom at the appointed time. I was one of four or five individuals to brave the weather. My perseverance (and my writing) paid off and I became a reporter for my college paper.

What is my takeaway 28 years later? Sometimes we have our lives carefully planned out but even the best thought out plans can go awry. We just need to pick ourselves up, try a new or different approach and when the timing is right, if it’s meant to be, it just might happen. Try again. Or maybe we will change our mind on the original plan, and something even better awaits. What’s most important though is that we don’t give up on ourselves or our dreams. I decided a few years later, post-graduation, that journalism wasn’t my dream (although writing still is). That’s ok, too. Life provided circumstances and experiences that led to my dreams changing as I grew in different directions. If I don’t give up on myself and settle in life, I get the opportunity to pursue my dreams, whatever those might be. I’m still working on figuring out what I want to do “when I grow up”. In this moment though, I sit in front of my computer, happily typing away – so I’ll take it!