Growing up, my dad had a cartoon in his office — a pelican swallowing a frog. The frog was halfway down the pelican’s throat… but had both hands around the pelican’s neck, refusing to go any farther.
“Never ever give up.”
That ridiculous little cartoon became the blueprint for my life.
In middle school, my English teacher, Mr. Strecker, encouraged me to enter an essay contest. I won. The prize was a trip to the courthouse in Colorado Springs, where I met several female attorneys. I don’t remember the cases. I don’t remember their speeches. I remember one thing: “That’s what I want to do.”
But dreams don’t always run on our preferred timeline.
I graduated early. Built a business career. Took the LSAT. Then took it again. And again. For more than a decade, “lawyer” lived in the category of someday.
During those years, my mom bought me a rolling leather briefcase. I wasn’t a lawyer yet, but every time I wheeled it through an airport, it reminded me: the dream isn’t dead.
Eventually, I was admitted to a weekend law program in Chicago. I’ll never forget walking downtown with my classmates after class, eating deep-dish pizza, thinking: “I’m finally here.”
Ironically, that was also the season when respected mentors told me I was making a mistake — that law school would derail the career I’d already built. If I had listened, I wouldn’t be an attorney today.
People see the title now and assume it was linear. It wasn’t. It was ten years of “not yet.” Ten years of “maybe someday.” Ten years of refusing to let the pelican win.
Mr. Strecker passed away before I could tell him I became a lawyer. I wish I could thank him — not for grammar lessons, but for changing the trajectory of a little girl’s life with one essay contest.
So here’s what I’ll say instead: Teachers — you may never see the ending of the stories you help begin. Dreamers — if your timeline looks nothing like you expected, keep going.
Some dreams take time. Some dreams take grit. Some dreams take decades. But the ones worth carrying are worth fighting for.