Back to School

It's been two years since my mini-me and I strutted our stuff across the stage. A collective sense of achievement for many years of hard work and sacrifice. I was part of the "one more class" club, while others belonged to the "one more paper/final/requirement/God WHY would you curse me with a 35 page thesis?" club. I had every intention of closing out my undergrad career the following Summer. I enrolled, went through the first week, and painfully came to the conclusion that without the needed resources (ie: textbook, tutor) my success in the class was gonna be virtually non-existent. Fast forward three Fall semesters and here I am, at the end of week one of my one last class. And guess what? Now is the right time.

The week leading up to the first day kept winding down to more anxiety ridden moments. The realization sank in that I would soon be expected to perform in a subject that I haven't explored for nine years! I'd petitioned to bypass any possibility of having to be assessed, because even a simple math assessment test after nine years of lazy computations is simply terrifying. And after day one I started to think that maybe a repeat, a refresher course would have been worth another semester's delay. Boy was day two a game changer! Without any immediate memory of algebra or the $200 latest addition required textbook, I was able to hang onto every notation the professor made and became more confident that being left alone to fend for myself with just a few equations and 20 unanswered problems wasn't a death sentence after all. I even traded a few pages of a good book for two example problems on the bus ride home! And it was then that I remembered why I used to love math.