Thanks, Universe.

Don’t you love those wacky little coincidences where unexpected things work in your favor? Observe:

1) I just went to my work Outlook calendar to create a birthday reminder for myself with a pretty picture on it, and realized that I already did that a few months ago. My brain knows me too well.
2) Today I was eating celery with laughing cow cheese, and the factoid inside the laughing cow cheese wrapper said, “You burn more calories digesting celery than it contains.” I wanted to give myself a high five.
3) I came home from work yesterday and sitting on the counter was the exact book I was needing to get from the library. Harry had thought ahead and surprised me with it (can I really give the universe credit for that one though?).

And yesterday afternoon, I received another ladle full of “Destiny du Jour” into my proverbial soup bowl of providence.

I was denied from the Speech Pathology graduate program I had been so eager and excited to apply for.

Obligatory background: I graduated a year ago from BYU, engaged to the best looking man in the western hemisphere (I’ve never ventured into that eastern hemisphere, so I have to allow for the miniscule chance that there may have been someone slightly better, while fully believing there isn't). We’d spent our school year up to that point applying for schools in the same locations, hoping for 2 acceptance letters from the same region of the country. I got one acceptance, one “wait-list,” and four denials. Harry got almost all acceptances, except from two schools. The let down was that my one acceptance came from a place where Harry wasn't admitted. Southern Connecticut University said yes to me, Yale had told Harry in a high pitched nasally voice, “We already have too many smart people. Please shoo.”

It didn’t matter in the end, because Stanford was where we knew we were meant to be. So many things had fallen into place for us to be here, and we were excited to come. And so far, it’s been dreamy and delicious in every particular.

This year, I decided to apply yet again for one local school that had turned me down last year. Months ago I drove down in the middle of a work day to the campus, met with the Dean of the program, personally handed in my hard copies of my application, and tried to demonstrate all the facets of my personality in one 15 minute appointment and two firm and enthusiastic handshakes.

Alas, it’s now many moons after I began this whole process, and yesterday I received the fateful email. Out of 400 applicants, they took 38 students. Come fall, I officially have no books to purchase/tuition to pay/parking permit to buy (cue sad face).



I should be bawling into a pillow, at least a little embarrassed, considering how many people I told about this application and for the previously high level of my hopes. But, I don’t think I’m in the mood to beat myself up or feel like a failure right now. I don’t have the energy. I have a husband who is the MAN and makes my life exciting and intriguing, a brother coming home and an ensuing get-together with my fabulous family, a job that pays me money so that we can do fun things, friends who make me giggle even from too many miles away, and a million things I can be doing/learning to do in order to make myself more interesting.

Harry told me that now I've crossed "Speech Pathology" off the list of things I'm going to do with life.

(cue playing of Coldplay’s “Everything’s Not Lost,” with steadily increasing volume)

So, world, you’re my freakin oyster. On to the next pursuit. Be it a sewing project or a dissertation on world peace, I’m jumping in headfirst.

And hey, undergrad wasn’t a total waste. At the very least, I’ll still be able to write in the phonetic alphabet.

ɵɛɧks, ‘junIvɚs.