Today I put on my knee high black boots and walked five minutes to Reade Center for my last fiction critique as a college student. It's strange to think that the thing I came here to do, write, is over for Taylor. But then, I didn't really think that Taylor would be more than a stop along the journey, did I?

That's one of the crazy things about a liberal arts education. It seems like a lot of time is devoted to taking classes you think you will have no interest in. It may be true, but often I found that I could find something to take away from a class, even if it was just myself at the end of the semester.

I'm approaching a time where there will be no more assignments. I will no longer be told to write, or to revise or draft. I will have to do it. I'm excited.

Some days, like today, everything is insane and busy. I feel like I'm drowning in piles of work. But all this too will pass away. I will move through the next few weeks, days and months and emerge at the other side. Even though it doesn't seem like it.

When I was getting ready to test for black belt, I had similar thoughts. I remember making appointments for things that fell after the test and thinking that I would simply not be able to keep them. I couldn't imagine what life would look like on the other side of black belt. But I made it. I got there and have the belt to prove it. As with college, I counted down the days (198) and waited for the chance to be done. It's coming.

I've had a lot of criticism of my work lately. Not only in a formal way, but more basically, personally. It makes me realize something I've been forced to know in the course of my life. Not everyone gets me. Not everyone understands or appreciates what I'm trying to do. As hard as that is to accept, I'm trying, and I'm remembering that there are lots of reasons why God made me this way. I just have to think about the people that have connected with my work to know that He didn't make any mistakes.