A letter

This morning Alyce waved a wand over my head and proclaimed that she had magically turned me into a midwife.

An hour later I received a letter informing me that I had not been accepted into midwifery school. I had not even been granted an interview.

I wasn't expecting that news. From this side of the rejection letter, clearly I should have prepared myself better. But never really occurred to me that I wouldn't have an interview. Sure, I might not get an offer of admission, but surely I'd make it through the first round. The rejection letter stated that my personal essay did not receive a high enough score to move to forward.

You might be thinking that I should never have been so confident in the first place, but hear me out: have you ever wanted something so badly that you feel as though you already have it? Have you spent so much time thinking so much about a possibility that it becomes a reality, even if only in your head? I talked myself out of applying to midwifery twelve years ago, and I felt as though returning to this path again and again meant that it was my path. Like it was just waiting for me all along, patiently sitting around, growing stronger, eager to welcome me on my journey to becoming a midwife.

It seems that I was wrong.

Today isn't the day for making plans for the future. Of course I will probably apply again next year (it is on my list, after all), but I need to move forward with something else in the meantime. So much of our decision to move back here revolved around me starting midwifery school this fall, and this letter today sort of took my breath away. I have a lot of thinking to do. But today isn't for thinking. Today is for disappointment. No matter what wonderful opportunities will develop in the coming year, and I truly believe that they will, today is the day for feeling sad, for sitting with all of these unpleasant feelings.

It was a crappy day.