"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes? You look so grown up! I feel like I haven't seen you in a million years!" It had barely been a year, but I laughed anyway. I rushed over, threw my arms around her and embraced her with the biggest hug I could. It was a reunion a few months in the making that finally happened after both of our schedules miraculously cleared at the same time. She's one of my favorite people, one of the teachers who encouraged me and ultimately evoked my passion for writing, so it felt wonderful to see her. But at the same time, it felt strange to be able to refer to her by her first name, Megan, instead of Ms. Harrington.
When we decided to meet, we settled on "Cupcake," a local café in Minneapolis. We both ordered- a key lime cupcake and a latte for me, a regular coffee and a triple chocolate cupcake for her, a choice that doesn't surprise me. A self-proclaimed "chocoholic," I can recall almost always seeing her with some kind of chocolate during my years in her classroom. As soon as we sit, she asks me about what I've been up to lately, even though she already knows. A few weeks earlier, I had sent her an email about how I had planned on potentially submitting a sample of my work for an internship. Regretfully, I had to tell her that I had decided not to submit anything after all, citing my work and class schedules this semester as an excuse, all the while knowing that wasn't the real reason why I had backed out. Scheduling was definitely part of it, but my confidence was the real reason. I'm sure every author experiences it some time in their career: that little nagging voice in the back of your mind that says "you're not good enough" when you write a terrible draft, or "why even bother" when you see the outstanding work of your peers. And just when I thought I had Megan fooled with that excuse, she called me out on it. In a move that was very "her," she asked me why I thought I wasn't good enough.
