Where there is a will, there is a way.
I used a variation on this motto as the slogan for my campaign to become student body president in sixth grade. Since I attended a private elementary school, I remained there instead of moving on to middle school like my fellow sixth graders in public school. I was one of nine. Seven boys, two girls.
Tiny me says hey.
I won the election that year — with this:
Where there is a Wilson, there is a way.
I am reinventing myself. There are days that you wake up and realize that you are no longer you. I’ve come to the conclusion that the 11 year old student body president is in here somewhere — but no one has seen her in about five years. I still have that drive, but haven’t been applying it.
I am driven by emotion, tossed around in a turbulent sea that has dragged me down to Davy Jones’ Locker more times than I can count. The problem isn’t the emotion, but rather my willingness to push through it to focus on the plan set before me. I let it distract me rather than inspire me. I have this powerful weapon inside of me, and I haven’t let it out to see the light of day since I graduated college.
This is infuriating for my inner self. I sit in the corner of a room, a fly on the wall to my own destruction. I watch myself — her — put to waste all that I have worked to achieve. I’ve had enough of standing by. I’m ready to be president again.
