My phone buzzed. I dropped my toothbrush into the sink and my left hand scrabbled against the cool counter top. I had five minutes to leave for class and I still hadn’t done my hair, but I couldn’t resist. The allure of a grandiose future was too strong. My dream job was waiting. All I had to do was open the email.

It was from the Starbucks Reward Program. There was a coupon for three dollar Grande fall drinks.

Whoop Dee Fucking Doo.

Novocain flooded through my system as I realized I hadn’t hit the jackpot, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that the next email would be my ticket to the fast-paced, high-powered, adrenaline junky overdosing world of Washington politics.

I hadn’t even set foot in the city and I was hooked. The vibe of Washington D.C. covered the nearly 700 miles to Grand Rapids with strength to spare. Distance meant nothing. The fantasy of rubbing elbows with the country’s top brass or getting noticed by someone high up in the White House and dubbing me the rising star of the Progressive movement, enraptured me. Nothing was out of reach. In the words of Lin-Manuel Miranda: “There’s a million things I haven’t done. But just you wait.”

I know what I stand to gain from that world: experience, knowledge, influence, and name-recognition. By now you’ve probably figured out that I’m slightly vain, but I also think I have something compelling to offer in return. I’m smart, I write well, and I want to help people. Washington can give me what I want and I can give it what it needs.

The best matches come with a price. Two journalists came back to Calvin to talk about their careers in D.C. and said their work was their life; precious little time to pursue personal passions and possible partnerships that push past platonic platitudes. I know myself; I am obsessive. When a goal finds me, I leverage all of myself to make it mine. I continually lust after the object of my affection, to the exclusion of everything and everyone else.

Pursuing the ultimate goal, that once achieved may reveal itself as empty and specious, with unyielding perseverance is like an extreme-sports addict jumping out a plane blindfolded.

The thrill and adrenaline accompanied by such a jump is unparalleled, I hope. I cannot pass up the opportunity to find out how strong I am, and who I am.

I see three ways this battle could play out.

1) I dive in and burst out of the water able to swim and tread water longer than any measured record and change the way people swim forever.

2) I go under and never get my head above water; I disappear.

3) I take the plunge, struggle to get my head above, tread water for a while, and then swim over to the pool side bar, order a rum and coke, and watch the next person in line go off the high dive.

I honestly have no idea what is going to happen and it terrifies me. But it also stimulates and excites my soul to no end. I don’t want to know. If I tried to plan every stage of my life to the last excruciating detail I would never move anywhere. Not knowing is half the fun.

I do know that I’m already obsessed and it worries me slightly. Since applying to West Wing Writers, I get a slight knot in my throat and I jump to see if it’s them emailing me a congratulatory note or a depressing death sentence anytime my phone lights up. My mood is partially determined by the chance I think I have of getting that intern slot, which varies on a daily basis. That’s not great and it’s probably not healthy either.

Oh well. I’ll figure it out.

I took a breath.

I put my phone down, rinsed my toothbrush and grabbed my hair product. Seven minutes later I’m settling into my chair as Professor McBride starts talking about the choice between contractual and coordination theory in constitution making. I pick up my pen and start to write something important when I catch a glimmer of light out of the corner of my left eye. My phone lights up on the corner of my desk. I drop my pen on my notebook.