Celebrating the smaller pieces of greater accomplishments can seem, in word, trivial. It is not the veritable light at the end of the tunnel, nor is it the very first step in the series of events leading to great aspirations. It is a comfortable middle ground that has been treaded on, and while it can seem mundane, the progress here is vital.
I have always challenged myself to grow, whether it be academically, emotionally, mentally, or physically… the list can go on indefinitely. The fact is, I crave personal enrichment. I am currently completing my undergraduate bachelor’s degree a bit “later” in life at 42 years old. I often mentally ridicule myself for not having had a clearer professional path when I was younger. I had my three children shortly after graduating high school and therefore directed my energies into raising them into the incredible young adults that they are. It is only now that I know exactly what I want to reach for, which is a career in grant and proposal writing. It is a unique niche that allows me to flex my writing skills while helping connect clients with communities, encouraging fellowship and growth.
Reaching beyond my known capabilities, I tackled a course this semester that pushed, pulled, tripped, mocked, and rattled me. It was an art course, of which I know nothing about, and my pursuance of it was both a necessity for an elective credit and a desire for a challenge. Just to keep things spicy, factors regarding both my physical health and the mental health of one of my children spun wildly out of control amid several major assignments that were due.
My thought process was along these lines:
“How am I going to contend with all of this?” “Why did I take this course?” “WTF was I thinking, pushing beyond my comfort zone?”
I then forced myself to see more clearly and began adjusting my line of thinking:
“How can I motivate myself from within?” “How can I flip the script on this whole situation?”
What was my solution? A reward jar that I affectionately named “My Star Jar.” Yes, that is right, a wooden reward jar (typically for young children) that little wooden stars are put into to track progress for goals. However, for me, it served as a visual representation of my continued perseverance and dedication to this course. I refused to fail. Each day that I had class, I put a star in my jar. After completing an assignment, I put a star in my jar. After my finals, I put a star in my jar.
I put my final star in my jar on December 16, 2024, when my instructor submitted my final grade, and my academic nemesis had been slayed. While I received A’s in all my other courses, I earned a B in this art course, and I was content with that. I was proud of my ability to look within myself and decide what would encourage me and help me face my fears and anxieties. It did not matter that it was a system created for children. Seeing my progress build with each star gave me the sense of fulfillment that I needed.
Completing this course along with my other ones this semester was nothing special. It was not my final semester, nor my graduation date. However, it was a powerful reminder that I can carry a great deal of weight, acknowledge it, and work through it without letting it define me.