I Finished the Application at 12:07 a.m.

Dear Delyara, I was in pajama pants and an old college sweatshirt. My tea was cold. There were Goldfish crumbs in the bed. One of the kids’ water bottles was still on my nightstand because I had forgotten to take it down. I was not glamorous. I was not inspired. I was not in the mood to become a better version of myself. I finished it anyway. What made me cry was not the application itself. It was the fact that I had finally done something I have been emotionally circling for months. You know that feeling where the work is almost done, but the last step — the visible step — feels like putting your chest on a railroad track? That was me. And I submitted it anyway. I don’t know what will happen next. But last night, for one tired, unpolished, ordinary woman in a cluttered bed, finishing counted as a kind of salvation.