I’ve been preparing for this Model Congress Conference for weeks, and it’s a strange feeling to know that it’s tomorrow. I’m anxious, and jittery, and convinced that I am going to both fail miserably and have great success. But I put myself through this because I love it. I choose this stress. I choose this anxiety. I choose these racing thoughts. They are mine, and I will overcome them.
I cried a lot at a Model UN competition this autumn, but I stuck it out. I would leave the committee room for five minutes and then turn around and march right back in. I stood up and debated even when it felt like the Atlantic Ocean was pushing its way out onto my palms. In the end, my partner and I won second place.
I won’t have the security of being with another person this time. I’ll be alone. But if I squint, it’ll just be like Congress every Wednesday. I stand up there and talk to a hundred people on a regular basis, and I do it well. Of course, I can speak to sixteen.
But now I pack.