Four classes. I’m four classes away from graduating community college with my associate’s degree.

Well… that’s not entirely true. Apparently, I have to take eight more science lab credits to get my associate’s degree, but that would mean that I’d only take one class in the spring of 2025 (assuming I pass my classes in the fall). So, my parents have both urged me to transfer to university one class early, and get on with a bachelor’s degree. 

Since I want to make the best decision possible, I’ve decided to spend my summer (and possibly the fall) touring various universities within driving distance of my house. Last week, I toured Colorado Christian University. This week, I’ll be touring the Colorado School of Mines. I also plan on touring CU Denver, University of Denver, and Metro State University. If, for some reason, none of those places work out for me, I may stretch my wings further. But, for now, I’m focusing on those five schools and the majors they offer as to not overwhelm myself too much.

The prospect of going to university absolutely scares the shit outta me. I still have trouble with the fact that, against all possible odds, I’m still alive and very well, let alone that I’m a successful community college student. How on God’s green earth am I about six months away from being a university student? Even scarier, what ought I do with the semesters that lie ahead of me?

When I look at my future, I see far too many possibilities and opportunities to choose from. I could literally do whatever I want! And even if I narrow down my majors to those in STEM, I still have literally hundreds of majors to choose from, each of which splits into dozens of more specific paths, which then split into even more careers. So, where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do? 

I simply don’t have a fucking clue. 

As a result, my perpetual existential crisis has worsened significantly over the past couple of weeks, after laying dormant simply as an annoying, nagging thought in the back of my mind. I’ve woken up consistently between two and three in the morning in a cold sweat, unable to remember the dreams but somehow knowing that they had something to do with my near future. After each nightmare, I’ve gotten up to get a glass of water and give my worries to God, in hopes of getting an answer from Him. 

So far, I’ve gotten none. 

Yet, despite the anxiety and nightmares, I still feel that I’m doing something right. I mean… so long as I’m progressing in college and trying new, healthy things, I must be moving in a decent direction. But, that doesn’t negate the fact that I’m extremely lost and afraid. I feel like I’m trying to find my way out of a national forest shrouded in dark, dense mist with only a compass that won’t stop spinning no matter how still I stand. 

I don’t know where to go, where I’m heading, or if I’ll ever figure anything out. I’ve spent the last three years throwing darts at a wall and going with what sticks, which hasn’t been exactly helpful as nearly every single one of those damn darts have stuck!

So, what am I supposed to do?

Well… I’ve decided to continue my academic journey by taking on the next four classes that stand between me and university, while also trying to rebuild a sense of community around myself. 

Of course, to find and build community, I have to be a little more vulnerable than I’m currently comfortable with (which isn’t very vulnerable at all). That doesn’t mean I should share literally everything about myself. But, at the very least, I need to be honest with the people around me: I’m not just a 23-year-old woman going through a typical existential crisis. I’m a 23-year-old woman that, scientifically speaking, shouldn’t even be here. Yet… I am. 

I’ve had more than my fair share of brushes with death, and I grew up believing my parents (and perhaps, even my grandparents) would outlive me. I grew up watching my health progressively worsen at an increasingly rapid rate, while doctors poked and prodded at my body in hopes of keeping me around long enough for medical science to catch up. 

Instead of dreaming about the future and bragging to my peers about how I was gonna be president one day, I dreaded my future. I spent my middle and high school years making peace with my own early death, and hating God for everything that went wrong in my life. I’d often lie awake at night, grieving a life I never had, and worrying incessantly about how bad things would get from there. After all, I already felt terrible. Yet, I was quite healthy for someone my age with Cystic Fibrosis. And I was terrified of the prospect of dying a slow, excruciating death. 

Then, the moment I took my first dose of Trikafta with a fatty sirloin steak from Outback while my grandma Debbie and grandpa Shawn watched, my trajectory spun a full 180 degrees. In two weeks, I went from suffering all sorts of issues caused by Cystic Fibrosis, to being mucus-free and literally healthier than my peers. My life expectancy shot up from my thirties to my eighties; I was (and am) gonna live as long as everyone else. 

When my doctors told me I needed to start seriously thinking about going to college, pursing a career, and saving up for retirement, I went home and sobbed every night for a month straight; equally ecstatic for and terrified of my future. 

Up until that moment, I hardly thought about my future because I didn’t believe I had much of a future. I was too sick to finish high school like the rest of my peers, how the hell could I possibly go to and graduate college, pursue a career, and live a long, healthy life like the rest of them? Suddenly, thanks to three little daily pills, doctors were telling me I’d live to die of old age, and I needed to rethink and reformat my entire existence to deal with that!

Needless to say, I’ve spent the past five years trying to figure myself out, and I still don’t have any idea who I really am, or what I’m truly capable of. Yet, every time I encounter a new person, or run into a friend or family member after some time away, I’m always asked, “What are you majoring in?”

My answer to that, so far, has been, “Something in STEM, I guess…”, because STEM seems to be where the most stable and lucrative careers are these days. However, that’s not an answer most people want to hear and, frankly, that’s not the answer I like to give either. 

Why’s that?

Well, for one, I feel a little embarrassed by the fact that I have no idea what to do with myself, when I’m surrounded by people who, at least, think they know what they’re doing. I also exist in a culture and a society that (stupidly) expects people my age to have a solid plan for their future by the time they get outta high school. And here I am, at twenty-three years old, completely at a loss of what to do with my life.

Plus, my answer to the question doesn’t actually answer the question. It simply begs more questions from others; questions that oftentimes get a little too close to my heart for me to comfortably answer. 

I mean… I keep circling back to the sentiment that I simply shouldn’t be here, because for my entire childhood and into my adulthood, I was told by my doctors, biology teachers, and even my own family that my life would be significantly cut short by Cystic Fibrosis and Pulmonary Atresia. I was still expected to do every damn thing in my power to help myself stay as healthy as possible for as long as possible, but it was inevitable that I’d die young. 

Thanks to an intense series of miracles, most of which none of my doctors can explain, that’s no longer my prognosis. I’m now expected to live a very long time. However, old habits (especially the ones that kept me alive for the first eighteen years of my life) die hard, as do old mindsets and beliefs. 

Logically, I understand that I’ll live a long time, and I’ll be okay no matter what happens, or what I choose to do. Emotionally, however, I’m still convinced that the other shoe’s gonna drop any day now. 

Note: Here’s part two of this blog. It relates to the first part, but in a different(ish) way. This part’s more about the colleges, majors, and career paths that lie ahead of me. 

In order to best prepare for my future outside of community college, I’ve decided to spend my summer touring various colleges within driving distance of my house. So far, I’ve visited two campuses: Colorado Christian University and Colorado School of Mines.

I toured them both with an open mind, trying my best to envision myself as a university student, pursing a rigorous degree with a passion. I’ve tried to replace my fear with excitement; to “embrace the adventure” as my grandparents (who came with me to both tours) have been saying. I even struck up a few conversations with current students and faculty of both schools, getting as much information out of them about the schools as I could. 

So far, getting information has been easy. Reining in the anxiety, however, has not. 

For the first time in my life, I’m starting to feel the pressure of performing academically to ensure a spot at one of the “top schools” in the country. Colorado Christian University’s average GPA is on par with Harvard’s, and only one in ten applicants get into Colorado School of Mines. Both places have professors that are top-tier experts in their fields. And both campuses are beautiful.

I still have several more universities to tour and consider, all of which are just as academically rigorous and fancy as CCU and Mines. 

Meanwhile, here I am: a twenty-three-year-old community college student, who threw a $50 sushi party for myself over getting a 76% in my precalculus class. At both CCU and Mines, I found myself surrounded by students far more academically successful than myself. They took the hardest classes in high school, lead all sorts of student organizations, and participated in numerous prestigious extracurriculars. They volunteered, worked, and studied from dusk till dawn during their high school careers, and continued that in college. 

Compared to them, I’m the definition of a disappointment!

Ok, I know I’m being a little dramatic. I know that I’m not a fuckup or a disappointment. I know that I’ll be okay no matter what happens. I know I shouldn’t compare myself to others (I mean… Colorado School of Mines bragged about how Adam Savage from Mythbusters went there to build some stuff for his YouTube channel, and Savage never even went to college). And, as much as I like to bitch about everything, I’m actually pretty content with life. 

Even so, I felt wildly out-of-place touring both schools. I walked around both campuses in a T-shirt, camo cap, and the camo cowboy boots Toby chewed up, while being led around by professionally-dressed student ambassadors past gothic-style, stone buildings where dressed-up professors were attending summertime conferences. Students taking summer classes and internships were hard at work, studying in the libraries and commons, or outside under the shadows cast by century-old cottonwoods and ash trees.

At Mines, I visited labs were scientists my age were busy conducting experiments using chemicals and technology I'd never even heard of before (I saw some guy in a hazmat suit apparently preparing chemicals to launch through Mines' particle accelerator). At CCU, I overheard a group of students in one of the commons areas engaged in a heated theological discussion that went well over my head. 

To be continued…