That’s a deep question, right? I mean, Langston Hughes never really had to delve into the pits of this question. Once it was asked, any number of correct responses immediately swim to the surface of your thoughts. It dies. It haunts. It agonizes. If you are familiar with Mr. Hughes’ poem, “Harlem”, then you already know what I mean by this. The great poet decides to answer his own deep question with a list of even deeper, more hauntingly illustrated questions. He leaves us with only questions….not an answer in sight. This leaves us to really ask ourselves those deep, thought-provoking questions. What really does happen to a dream deferred?

To help us answer this question for ourselves, we first must know where our dreams come from. I’m not talking about the dream you had last night about fish, and now you are snooping to figure out who is pregnant. I’m talking about your hopes, your aspirations, your passions. You know….those things that keep you up late at night well past your bedtime, the things that you can’t stop talking about, the things that make your pitch increase 2 octaves because you are so excited and overcome with joy when the subject is raised. The things I am most passionate about, I have a hard time believing all that passion and emotion just appeared from nowhere. I believe our passions are God-given and help lead us to who we are destined to become…if we choose to let them.

The next question is the hard one. It’s the one we struggle with. I can hear you asking me now, “Well, A.G. If our passions and dreams are so God-given, why do they end? Some before they even start. Can you answer that one for me?” My friends, don’t believe for a second that I haven’t asked myself (and the Man upstairs) this one on numerous occasions. What I find is that God gives us numerous passions in life. Some things more fervently than others. Each passion is somehow connected to the last. Sadly, some must end for the next to begin. Let me explain, I will share my story with you.

When I was a little girl, I had a dream. Not the M.L.K. kind of dream, but a dream all the same. I loved sports. It was highly uncommon for me to be involved in less than 2 sports at a time. My father and I used to spend a lot of our time in the backyard practicing. When I was in the 6th grade, you could not have told me that I wasn’t going to get a scholarship to The University of Tennessee and play basketball for Pat Summit’s Lady Vols. I used to stand at the free-throw line on our backyard concrete court and say things like “Autman scores for the Vols and the sea of orange goes crazy!” Now, I was a pretty decent player, but I was no Chamique Holdsclaw. As much fun as basketball was, as competitive as I was, I began to realize that my dream was probably not going to happen. There was a sport I was even better at, though.

Softball….even now, just hearing that word makes my voice jump up an octave or two. Something miraculous happened when I was in the 9th grade. I had only played slow-pitch softball and was introduced to the wonderful world of fast-pitch. Now, if you are familiar with the softball world, you already know how different these two forms of softball are. I had no clue what I was getting into! Everything was SO different. And I struggled. So much, that I planned on not playing my 10th grade year. We were to get a new coach for the next year, but my mind was already made up. I was NOT playing. Coach B wouldn’t let me quit though. And neither would my parents. They stayed on me and encouraged me. So, I played and I worked. I treated softball like it was my baby. I fed it, bathed it, loved it, and watched it grow. This is what happened from that work: 9th grade= Most Improved Player, 10th grade= starting position, 11th grade= starting center fielder, lead-off hitter, and team Most Valuable Player, 12th grade= college scholarship offers, including Division 1 schools.

I was over the moon. All that hard work, sweat, tears, broken bones, torn ligaments, and blood paid off. Now, I was very aware of the possibility of my softball career ending. Women’s sports have not advanced at the speed of men’s sports. The idea of becoming a professional softball player after college was a stretch. Even if that happened for me, I was aware that most of those players had careers for the off-season. The money just wasn’t enough for softball to be their only income. So, I knew that I had to find a new passion. Something that I would love to do with or without softball. God delivered. He gave me nursing.

After much prayer, crying, consulting, and praying and crying some more, I decided to accept my offer to the University of Southern Mississippi. USM had (and still does) a great softball program and a highly competitive nursing program. It also didn’t hurt that campus is only an hour from home, so getting homesick would be a low likelihood.  In the fall of 2004, I started my journey toward 4 wonderful years as a softball player and (hopefully) 2 years as a pre-nursing student. Life was supposed to be great. Except, it wasn’t. I still loved the game of softball, but I was miserable. If you know me, I am a highly positive person. I now felt like I was in the land of negativity. I wasn’t adapting like I should, but I was determined to press on! I was holding on to the fact that I had 4 years and I wouldn’t be a freshman forever. Right before the Christmas break, we had academic advisement. This would be the beginning of my softball demise. My life was about to drastically change.

During our session, my adviser dropped the bomb on me. I remember her words stinging me like bees. “Ms. Autman,” she said and paused. “Were you informed of the fact that candidates for the nursing program are not allowed to participate in collegiate sports here at USM? Both are very demanding and your performance in one or both would likely suffer.” My “no” must have come out as a faint whisper, because she asked me to repeat myself. “No ma’am, no one told me that.” Cue the waterworks. “Ashley, you have options. You could play your 4 years out, keep your scholarship, then apply for nursing school. Option 2, you could play one more year, then attempt to go to nursing school. Option 3, finish your freshman year, forfeit your scholarship, take more classes next year to ensure that you have the prerequisites you need to apply, then apply for the program. None of these options ensure your entrance into the program, though.” I am only half listening by this point. “You do have one other option. You could change your major.” My eyes dart upward so fast, my vision was blurry for a few seconds. “No! That is not an option!” I really did not know what to do. I was furious that my 4 year plan was now ruined, even more furious that I was blindsided with this information.

Now at this point, I bet some of you are wondering what was so bad about playing the whole 4 years, then going to nursing school? Well…nothing. I know a lot a people who have gone this route. That worked for them. Now, for me, this option SOUNDED good. I could never make it FEEL good, though. Every time I said that this is what I wanted to do, it never felt right. I agonized over it, I reneged on it. I couldn’t make it stick. I knew in my heart what I had to do. So I did it. I left the team. I cried….and worked. I prayed…..and studied. It worked. In early November of 2006, I got what I had been waiting for, what I sacrificed for. I got my acceptance letter from the School (now College) of Nursing at USM.

Fast forward 10 years. I just celebrated my 30th birthday. I’m a nursing instructor who travels all over the country teaching students how to pass the NCLEX (exam that graduate nurses must pass in order to gain a nursing licence.) I’ve taught in a nursing program, worked in every area of maternal-child nursing, been a charge nurse, a mentor, and preceptor. I shudder to think where I would be in my nursing career if I had played those 4 years. I sometimes wonder if I would even be a nurse at all. You see, I had to give up one dream to make room for a new one. A dream that would fulfill me and grow me a million times more than softball ever could. Those 2 dreams are connected. Softball taught me many lessons that I have applied to nursing. The concept of teamwork. Think before you act. Know what you should do before you do it, and the list goes on and on.

So, what happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up? Does it fester? Does it explode? My answer is only if you let it, dreamer. Only if you let it. What will you choose today?

Stay encouraged friends,

A.G.