I’m almost done the first semester of classes in my Masters program. This week I got to do a presentation on my final project for one and in the car on the way home I almost cried because it felt so good. Because I am good at this. Because I know my stuff.

So I guess you were right. When you put it so simply that I should do┬áthis program you, once again, knew what you were talking about. And I’m starting to suspect you knew me better than I ever thought. We were a lot alike, I think. Though I supposed I’ve known that for a long time. At least I got a lot of the good.

The universe tried to tell me I was in the right place at the beginning of this semester, when I discovered that one of this year’s professors not only knew you, but has a very similar background – journalism, politics, academia – and a connection to Carleton basketball. Seriously.

There have been so many things over the course of this semester I would have talked to you about. But then I did this presentation and I knew that I can do it. I don’t always know, which frustrates Joe to no end. But sometimes I know.

And for now that feels pretty good.

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