Hard Things

At an alumni event last month, I saw a favorite professor of mine. He jokingly asked me if I remembered crying during a private lesson. I didn't immediately remember the particular incident he referenced, but I joked back that I remembered shedding many a tear in the practice rooms. It didn't bother me at all, as I knew he wasn't being intentionally rude, just recalling a memory. Later, he saw me again, and apologized for bringing it up and said he didn't intend to make me feel bad. He said that he knew I only cried out of frustration, and that it was a sign that I cared about doing well. I assured him that it was ok, and that he didn't upset me. Upon further reflection, not only was I not offended that he brought it up, I was glad. Because in trying to remember what might have provoked those tears on that particular day, I was reminded of many difficult sitations I found myself in during my undergraduate years. I transferred from a community college to a state university during my father's battle with cancer. I was living away from home for the first time. My financial aid got held up and a precious family friend loaned me money to get started until it came in. Not to be arrogant, but other than algebra, school had been easy for me up to that point, and taking 18 hours my first semester as a transfer almost killed me. My grades were less than stellar. My private lesson professor had to give me what I call a musical makeover, as I was doing almost nothing correctly when I got there. In March of that first year, my father passed away. I was grieving, depressed, and still kept going. I knew my education was important to my father. I don't remember what my final GPA was, but I know that after that I made mostly A's and B's, with a C in Physics that I didn't know how I got, but sure wasn't complaining. I have always said I could do math until they added letters, and science until they added math. I went on to teach, with some great successes, and some not so great failures. At the end of those failures, I cried for a day or so, then put on my big kid underpants and did the next thing I knew I had to do. I went on to grad school, where thankfully I graduated with a 4.0, and an invitation to the honor society, which I didn't want to spend the money on. I still regret that. My point in all this, is that I CAN DO HARD THINGS. And so can you. Always getting the A, always getting the spot (on the team, in the ensemble, etc), isn't an accurate predictor for future success. Every day, we can push through the hard, or we can give up. Every day, we can make a better decision than we did yesterday. And sometimes going through, and persevering through the hard things, builds a grit in us we will need. At the end of it all, if I have more laugh than frown lines, then I will count THAT a great success.