God, what a rush.

I walked out the sliding doors into the harsh glare of August sunlight, hands jammed in my pockets. In my right hand I could feel the source of this pure adrenaline shooting through from the crown of my head to my toes: an electric blue pack of Bubblicious. Home free, home free – more gum for me, sang my little heart.

I was around five, and thought the world came as easily and trouble-free as the candy I clutched. That is, until my mom stopped me at the car and demanded to see. Let’s just say that stolen candy gets you nothing, except a tearful, embarrassing apology to the checkout clerk as you hand the loot back over.

Fast forward to the present, where I find myself at an impasse. For a few years I’ve grown accustomed to simplifying my life. But really, it’s just an excuse to take the easy way out of most things.

Don’t like certain coworkers? I’d schedule myself on days those people weren’t around. Didn’t study the chapter for today’s quiz? Use prior knowledge from other classes and make up an answer I think will pull me a B. Encounter any sort of interpersonal problem? Look high and low for whatever the “easy way out” would be.

That’s not how I was raised, and the past four years have been a testament to college-kid stupidity. Until recently, I’ve been more than content to squeak past by the skin of my teeth in almost every facet of life. But this last semester of college has snuck up on me, tugging at the hem of my skirt and demanding my constant worry and attention.

During various times in a person’s life, things will all coalesce into what seems a prolonged, unnecessary uphill battle.

At the lowest point this week, I found myself flicking listlessly through my Twitter feed when I stumbled across what seemed to be the light through the clouds, the revelation that choirs of angels were singing aloud.

“The best way out is always through,” the tweet read, a quote attributed to American poet Robert Frost.

I’ve done some questionable things, I’ve certainly ruffled my share of feathers in this last, supposed-to-be pivotal year of my life. But for all the sensibilities offended and the questionable actions, I haven’t got that same adrenaline rush as before. Probably because I’ve been dancing around a resolution, hoping I could circumvent the consequences of my actions.

Guess what? It doesn’t work.

When I stole that pack of gum, my mom marched me right back into the store and made me face the person I’d apparently wronged. I’ve come within a hair’s length of failing a class because I couldn’t be inconvenienced to go. In the course of a semester, I’ve been confronted with situations that would have made my five-year-old self run for the hills as fast as my fat little legs would carry me.

But I’m not a good runner, and that’s no way to live.

So if I don’t buy a textbook for class, I deserve every failed quiz grade I get. If I speak before thinking, I deserve the lambasting I may get in return. If I raise hell, I fully deserve to get hell right back. Because it’s something I’ll get through – something I’ll look back on one day and laugh at. I’ve just got to make it through first, and I won’t do that by tucking my tail and fleeing at any sign of trouble.

Never back down.