A little over three years ago, I came to the gut-wrenching conclusion that I would not be making it on to vet school. I began my final year working towards a Bachelors degree in English and left behind a fifteen-year-old dream. I knew the day would come when I would have to think about the future that could’ve been — the prospective vet school graduation date. On May 23rd, I could have become Dr. Meredith. I could have been in the same job hunting boat as one of my friends (who I have chosen to live vicariously through). I could have been on my way to living and realizing the dream that started within a seven-year-old girl’s cheerful mind.
I found myself wondering, “what would I have to do in order to go back and try again?” Foolishly, I caved to that whim today. 22 classes. 60-61 credit hours. The probability that UF no longer offers second degrees to postbaccalaureates. I scour the list, trying to determine when and how I could manage to complete this. I quickly remember why I tucked my tail, reviewed my strengths and weaknesses, and took shelter within Internet Literature. But this small part of me still wishes I hadn’t given up on the dream. It was grueling. It was like running into a brick wall head-on repeatedly. But I couldn’t let go of the past. I had something to prove. I wanted to save all the sick and injured animals. Even after three years of giving that up, it’s still a painful scar lingering.
Of course, one cannot look to the past for the future. If something isn’t working, you don’t go back and beat yourself to death running into the same brick wall again.
