One. Step. At. A. Time.

Today is the last day of course work for my Doctor of Audiology degree. In the next two weeks, I will have taken every final exam, submitted every manuscript, and completed every lab assignment necessary to obtain my degree. Over the next few months, many in my cohort will continue to make their way further from Nashville to begin their externships around the country. One final year. Today is a marked moment. One I don’t want to forget and one where I can’t help but remember...

I tried to go back to my journal to read about the first days, weeks, and months of classes, but the pages were empty. Silent. Not one single word. Until December when I reveal that I have passed the first semester (surprise!). And I can’t help but think, “Really? Nothing?” And if you know anything about me...you might think my silence is strange too...until remembering the journey that lead to the start of this AuDventure…

You see, I was supposed to be graduating this year--Class of 2020. Four and a half years ago, I was vacuuming my living room when the mail came. Vanderbilt was always a long-shot, so I wasn’t expecting the letter perched at the top of the stack to be anything except a polite decline. I was, after all, an elementary school teacher...what did I know about becoming an audiologist...a doctor? Next thing I knew, I was jumping up and down in the middle of my living room...I assume you can connect the dots. And so, I was set to begin August 2016. 

But life happens. Almost always unexpectedly. And sometimes violently. Sometimes...the world explodes. Suddenly, everything you imagined about tomorrow and the next day and the next is ripped away. Sometimes your greatest wish is for normal--not amazing or easy or exciting--just ordinary, because that was so nice. Sometimes every second feels like walking on ground that is cracking and disintegrating under the pressure of your footsteps. Sometimes your life turns to dust and though you scramble to pick up the pieces to put them back into something they previously resembled...you can’t...because you can’t glue dust. 

Three years ago, I was still dust in the middle of a windstorm. Sad. Afraid. Lonely. Hopeful. Excited. Nervous. Uncertain. Doubtful. Eager. And so, I did what I had learned to do in the previous year of accepting life as dust...I took the next step. I prayed the next prayer. I exhaled the next breath. I packed the next box. I drove the next mile. I shook the next hand. I visited the next church. I sat in the next lecture. I read the next article. I completed the next assignment. I practiced the next procedure. I studied the next textbook chapter. I sent the next email. I had the next conversation. I made the next connection. One. Step. At. A. Time. 

Because I can do that. I can do the next thing. Whatever that is. The future may look scary and uncertain and hard and lonely and I don’t know how I will be able to handle it. But today, I can do the next thing. 

Sound familiar? 

Just do the next thing. And we will all get through this. One step at a time.