200 words are all that separate me from the best opportunity I’ve had in a long time and I’m terrified. What a thin line. But it’s not the words separating me, is it…? It’s 200 words at the end of a year filled with loss, failure, rejection, depression, fear, struggle. It’s the reality that I’ve got about one month of unemployment left. It’s the fact that I’ve gone this long on it. It’s the result of the last time I was asked to write a test sample for a job opportunity, and lost. It’s the terror of performing on command that has haunted me since my violin bow bounced across the strings in front of the judge instead of gliding through Vivaldi’s Winter Largo like it had at least a thousand times in practice. It’s the 900 on my SATs, when I know I’m at least a 1,400 kid. Mantra repeated 200 times would be meritorious. Driving 495 doing 200mph would be reckless, if even possible. Have I said, “I love you” 200 times to one person? 200 words are all that separate me from the change I am ready for, the next chapter in the book of Kristin.