There's nothing quite like looking down the edge of a 7,500 foot cliff to find a new lens on life. That's what happens when you're standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon. It doesn't even seem real at first because the impact is so intense. The grandeur of the Grand Canyon cannot be fully comprehended. Although I can assure that if you took one wrong step your life would indeed flash before your eyes.
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The first leg of our drive was going to be the longest I had ever been in a car. Our schedule: wake up, drive, sleep, repeat. For two and a half days. Although the anxiety of car sickness from yours truly (they say you're supposed to grow out of it...well, 22 years later and that has yet to happen, jokes on me apparently) caused me to overpack on Advil, Dramamine, and a grocery bag full of munchies, I was ready to see the West and all of its glory. I imagined Missouri to look very similar to Ohio — fields of corn, rolling hills, and very small town-ish. Oklahoma wasn't hard to picture — immense flatness with tornados looming above, waiting to strike, and Texas offered a very similar image. New Mexico was just desert, nothing else, and honestly, I didn't expect Arizona to look much different. I wasn't totally wrong, but definitely not right.
As professor Mary Rogus excitedly spoke out to the crowd, and as the clapping from peers, professors, and parents rang throughout the room, I froze. My name definitely was not called, I told myself, no way.
"What are you doing?" My boyfriend said as he nudged me to stand, "Get up there!" A smile gleamed across his face. "Oh, okay," I think I said, meekly. As I stood, struck by the overwhelming applause across the room, I felt my eyes glisten, and I clenched back the urge to shed a tear. |
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