I always have a backup plan. It might be a result of the forest-fire that roared through my life a few years ago, but I suspect my need for a backup plan predates that by many years. It’s kind of funny, actually- since I’m not much for front-end plans- I wing a lot of things in my life, and am usually okay with that.
So I’m scheduled to graduate this June. It’s been an intense two years, but it’s been worth it, and I’ve been looking into different grad schools and programs with an eye towards a PhD. Yeah, I know. Crazy. Who’d have ever thought? I still wonder sometimes if I can pull it off, but that it’s even a legitimate possibility now is amazing.
So the thing is, this week my University is dissolving dissolved my program. There was a chaotic few days of racing around, trying to get in with advisors and professors, and yes, it’s true, the program I had always considered my backup plan is now gone. Poof. Utterly gone. I had guaranteed admittance- and while I was hoping and praying for some of the other, higher-end schools, in the back of my head, I knew I had plan B. And that made me feel safe.
Now I’m hanging out in the breeze, and I have to find, apply, hold my breath and pray that some other schools decide I’m worth admitting and taking a chance on. Oh, yes, I know I should be able to find at least one- but that doesn’t change the fact that I find myself without answers, or even any certainty on where me and the kids will be living come fall. That’s a little unnerving.
Then I step back. Perhaps this is precisely what I needed- I was playing it safe, knowing there was a guaranteed spot for me in a mid-level state university. It’s possible that knowledge was a bit too much of a cushion, and I wasn’t necessarily risking what I needed to risk to find where I really need to be. I don’t know. But that’s how I’m going to look at it.
Now, the only thing I’m certain of is that the kids and I will be moving from our comfort zone here in eastern Washington, where we’ve lived for nine years, have gone through deaths and rebirths and landed in Little House, where we’ve healed and tended our wounds. Its time to leave the safety-zone, my friends.
It’s time to fly. Here’s hoping my wings are ready…
Dandelion Mama 
IF you can survive to the other end of the application and admittance process, you’ll probably find yourself with some lovely new beginnings. Getting your kids situated in a new place is always bound to be hard (hard hard) but for you personally, I think it will be a rejuvenating change of pace.
How thrilling, unnerving, exciting and unsettling, all at once!
Hope the Duke City is on your list.
You are needed elsewhere! People to meet, places to see, connections made!! Very exciting and terrifying, some great school will snatch you up, it will be exactly where you are meant to be!
Wishing you fair winds and following seas.
Heavenly Father’s got your back and I mean that beyond the cliche’. I’m just getting my bearings on this whole walking in faith deal and I suspect you’re way up ahead of me on that.
Hoping this hill isn’t too steep and you’ll be able to catch needed glimpses here and there as the path unfolds.
Not that I get a vote, but it never hurts to try. Iowa City, IA. Excellent school for you, great programs for your kids and I will be able to pick up/drop off/ babysit anytime for you.
Love, A Total Stranger Yet Sister in the Gospel
You have worked hard and i have faith for a soft landing. It’s scary, but an exciting new phase. It’s the beginning of the next chapter in your book. So many cliches. So many possibilities ( and blessings)
I can’t wait to see you soar.
In my experience, having the safety net yanked from under you is hard. Yet after the floundering, it becomes easier to see the opportunities. Possibilities open before you. It’s scary and exhilarating.
And once again, I will be following your path closely as I learn to navigate our own new adventure.
Lurker coming out… The Lord is preparing your new nest for you to land in. You’ll look back and see you were guided through all this.
The best to you and your little ones.