Me: So… I got an offer from Famous British University. They don’t accept transfer credits though, so I would have to repeat my first year.
Them: Another year? You won’t be finished for five years then. What about your scholarship? What’s wrong with the current program? Make a list of pros and cons so we can decide this properly.
Me: But did you hear what I said about where? I got into Famous British University.
Me: I’ve decided to try for this position at Popular Magazine. They’re looking for writers, and they have a great name in the publishing industry.
Me: Working at Popular Magazine would be such an ideal opportunity, if I could get it.
Them: You’re not pursuing your degree field anymore?
Me: It’s extremely competitive, and I’m at a disadvantage since it’s not my teritary specialty. I wish, though…
Them: Well, if it’s meant to be, you’ll get it.
Their pat, nonchalant responses used to bother me. It still does, actually. If I didn’t know that their clichéd responses were meant sincerely, I would have given up communicating a long time ago. Sometimes, though, I wish they would respond like I imagine, like the average person. Be happy-proud that someone famous is acknowledging me, that I’m ambitious.
On other days, their unworldly responses keep me grounded. It reminds me that chasing after big names doesn’t guarantee happiness, and that titles and accomplishments sometimes hold nothing but air behind the substance they promise. Today, however, is not one of those days. What’s wrong with ambition, anyway? Can’t I pursue wordly success without them fearing that I’m selling out to the devil?