I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. It was 11:53 on an astoundingly pitch-black night. I had been logged into an application to a community ­college for what felt like hundreds of years, yet was probably only an hour.

“Oh,” I quietly murmured into the midnight dark that was slowly creeping around me. “Not even an hour – make that only 53 minutes.” I had filled in countless bubbles, typed out my mailing address numerous times, and even double, triple, and quadruple-checked my class schedule. The computer screen lighting my dark living room with a harsh neon glare was now only flashing a simple message: “Submit Application.” But I had no idea what that truly meant.

You're torn. You're fighting, forcing yourself into another year of high school regardless of what you truly want. You're smart enough for this. You're talented enough. You'll make it, kid. You'll make it. You'll be accepted. Be strong. You. You. You. This is all for you.

“I'm gonna do this,” I told myself, urging myself. “I'll have fun. It will be perfect.” I had been debating whether or not to submit this application for some time – 57 minutes now. Another year here, working at the Midnight Diner, only meant boring days, never-ending shifts, all without challenge or a miniscule glimmer of interest in sight. College meant – well, I honestly had no idea what college meant. That was the excitement of it. The intrigue. Even the intense and concentrated fear. The fact that I would be going where I had never gone before.

Was it scary? Of course. How did I possibly expect myself to be able to co-exist with college kids who would be, without a doubt, so wise and mature and so incredibly “in college,” with that aura of opportunity floating around them? Not to mention they had to be really smart, of course. Don't all college kids have to be smart?

I hit “Submit.” And I waited. I bit my nails for a while.

My trepidation seems so silly now as I walk up the concrete stairs to class. Economics 101. Then Political Science 102. Followed by Health 101 and ending the day with Introduction to Business 109. This is my language, this is my world. Yeah, I'm now a high-school kid in a college world, but let me tell you, it isn't an acceptance letter that makes you “wise” or “mature.” You make yourself wise and mature.

You're here. You've won the war, claiming victory over the enemy. You were the enemy, now you're the hero. You're smart enough for this. You were accepted. You're strong. You. You. You. This is all for you. And you are going to take the world by storm, if you want to.

That is truly all anyone needs to hear.