Crossroads...

It's 7:30 and you've already gone to bed.

Well, you went to bed with your headphones, phone, and a bowl of popcorn so it's unlikely you'll actually be sleeping for a bit.  And why would you?  Sleep, I mean?  So many things weighing down on you like the heavens on Atlas.  So many lasts, and firsts, crammed on a train heading straight for you on the tracks.

It's the end of wrestling season. Four years of training, drilling, routine is abruptly coming to an end. Coach handed out the new starter jackets today.  Most would be thrilled to not have to wear the old ripped worn through ones, but not you.  For you it's comfortable and  familiar. I mended it for you from the brink of disaster with love so you could wear it with pride, hood down so you're a part of something, hood up for game on.  And yet, as we approach sectionals and the biggest competition, the last competitions of your high school years, you're being told to turn it in and wear the new one. The new, crisp, cold one. You want to forget that one at home Saturday, and I understand your defiance and secretly, I celebrate it.

The school verdicts are in. Just to complicate things we asked for more money, and they both met the need.  How can you compare two things that are not in any way the same?  How do you chose when the level playing field is full of divots and sand traps?

The first is offering an undergrad degree, with a major leaving you fully qualified for your doctorate later in life, and also allows time and availability for your minor.  They have an expansive gym. A D3 wrestling team that you can drill with at your leisure and watch compete if you ever miss it.  They have an Olympic sized swimming pool for you to swim in all but 2 hours a day, and intermural and club sports in every area you've ever wanted to try.  The food is phenomenal with nutritional labels on everything so you can calculate your intakes and gains. The laundry is free.  And the cost makes it almost irresistible, with all four years coming in at roughly the cost of a brand new high end car. This was your choice two days ago.  The money sealed it for you.  Until the other school called with a counteroffer.

They offered you free housing for the first year in addition to double the aid package they originally offered. This school has the name, access to the best hospitals in the country for your clinicals, and offer a pathway with aid to your doctorate. The program eliminates the unnecessary classes and dives right into your field of study, getting you through your undergrad in 3 years.  The draw of the city is mostly what you love and secretly, the closer proximity to home.  I can see it in you that the two hour drive home weighs on you.

I saw you shut down today. I know it's overwhelming, scary, and hard.  But I am confident you'll make the best choice for you.  That the school that appeals to your heart, soul, and mind will ultimately win out. Deep down, you know what school it is, you're just not ready. I get it, and you should know you are not the only one who wants to slow time down and just get through one weekend at a time.  You are not alone in this. I am overwhelmed too, just sitting here in power save mode for you to make your next move.

It all seems unfair to be at this crossroad just a month shy of your eighteenth birthday.  Such a huge milestone burdened with letting go of the past, and stepping into the uncertainty of the rest of your life. While I'd like it to be more coherent, it's understandable why your thoughts and concerns come out in one big mumble, why you can't make small conversation in the car, won't sit still long enough for the anxiety to creep in, and take the BIG bowl of popcorn into your room.  You are my son after all.

But you've got this.

I believe in you.

There is no wrong choice,

because it's your choice.