I wish I had good news to report.
The internship didn’t work out. I’d be lying if I said I’m okay. A lot was riding on me getting that internship. If everything had gone according to plan, I would have finished that internship by the end of next year, moved to Kalamazoo to start my career and family, and everything would be peachy.
But life has its way of throwing wrenches into the best-woven plans.
It was a technicality that I even got passed over for the internship — the supervisor said she just picked the first person who applied. I would have almost rather she just told me I sucked. And because of that little technicality, I’m either going to have to leave the state (along with my wife, who will have to leave her sick mother behind), or get a local internship in hospice, which I really, really, really did not want to do. You know, with that whole “unshakeable fear of death” thing I have going on.
I know things are going to turn out for the best, that God works everything together for the good of those who love Him and all that, but right now, I just need to grieve. I need space to have emotions about all of this. I need to scream and throw things and write whiny blog posts and eat chocolate tarts about it. There’s no fault in that, right?
When I first went up to the university to sign up for my classes, I originally signed up for premed, with every intention of going to med school and becoming a doctor. It was my parents who convinced me to go to school for music therapy instead. I want to make them proud. I need to finish this degree even if it damn well kills me, and it honestly might at this point.
Maybe I should have been a cardiologist, I don’t know. All I know is that music therapy has been chasing me down my entire adult life and even if I don’t get the internship of my dreams, something else will come along. It has to. In the words of Eminem, success is my only motherfuckin’ option, failure’s not. I know I was put on this planet to heal people with my music, and I’m going to do it, one way or another. I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll fight until I physically can’t anymore.
But for now, I’m going to allow myself to be upset.
JESSA JOYCE 