Me, Myself, and I

one more (slightly) impulsive decision

A few months after my return, I received an email from some guy named Jake.

To the stubbornly business-inclined,

I wanted to let you know that I haven't had another student who has considered political blackmail in their hypothetical business proposition. There is an empty seat in the back corner of my classroom that no one else has braved.

I know about NYU and have heard about your recent revelations related to your learning situation. I think, give me two years to work with you and teach you the fundamentals, and they'd be lucky to have you.

See you in the fall?

Professor Jake Bergenson

A future at NYU. Two years of grinding for a future that involved another academic building with desks and professors and classrooms. The answer would've been so easy a few months ago. But the longer I stared at the email, watched the letters come together in front me, I simply wondered, what did NYU have that I couldn't get right here? I knew what NYU had. But I couldn't go there just to follow him, could I? He'd be back, and I would still just be here, with my friends and family, working out the next chapter of my life.

Was that really the worst way a person could go?

That same day, I took a detour on my usual morning walk. I wandered over to the old building where Stacks had once gloriously stood. Stared at its vacant walls, the broken shop window, the vacant tables collecting dust from the ceiling. My stare fell back to my phone. Where the wrong side of my head tried to dictate the sounds and form meaning. The branches climbing to the top of my tree.

1. Reserve your spot

2. Deposit

3. See you in the fall

I wasn't so scared of failure anymore. I'd lived it too many times; always seemed like such a stupid fear to have when it was so inevitable. But still, why did my gut tell me that maybe, just maybe...

I stepped closer to the sign. A phone number with lease information.

Things going for me. I had a lot of things going for me. I could make a mean cup of coffee. A lot of people to root for me, to stand behind me and tell me that no matter how outlandish a decision was, they'd support me in whatever way they could. A lot of people couldn't claim to have what I had: a family to care, friends to believe, determination that could outrun talent. My saved up tuition money awaiting a future destination.

I unfolded the letter again. The number on the deposit. To call and confirm while we waited for the insanity of snail mail to cooperate and deliver.

Two numbers. One cell phone.

I dialed.

Some choices don't have right answers. But I think this is the closest I've ever been to one.

I sent an email to Jake later that day.

Subject: Partner?

I am in no need of more classroom management. However, I may or may not have just bought out that old coffee shop. If you'll be an advisor again instead of a professor, 10% of it is yours.

Two minutes later...

11%.