These writing prompts don’t all make sense to me. Some do, in fact, most do; but there are days, like this one, when the prompt does not make sense to me.
Why ask us what makes us proud? It seems to me that this is a little bit of a loaded question. Everyone feels pressured to give an answer that makes them look really good and sweet. “My kids!” “My faith!” “My work!”
Don’t get me wrong, those things are wonderful. I love them all myself, and take pride in my family and my right as God’s child and my job. But none of them really make me proud. Maybe I haven’t had that moment yet. Maybe I haven’t yet done the ‘big thing’ that’s going to solidify the concept. I bet I will, someday.
But this isn’t answering the question, is it? And I think I have an answer now.
For where I am in life, I’m proud of the fact that I kept trying. I had a rough and rocky few years in high school, and even before that; it wasn’t because of bullies though, or friendships gone bad. It was my own fault. I let things slide. I just didn’t seem to care about school. I didn’t seem to care about doing well in class, and my grades plummeted. I’d have a really good beginning of the year, and then about three quarters of the way through first semester I lost all motivation to try hard. So I gave up, and my grades slumped. And they slumped hard. Especially in math (I mean, which of us didn’t struggle with math at least a little bit when we were in high school?) but it wasn’t limited to that; I had grades in other classes that, when the bar was on the ground, I still managed to bring a shovel and go even under that. Now that’s something I’m not proud of, and I doubt I ever will be (who would be proud of failure?). But I do feel proud that every year, I suddenly stood up, gritted my teeth, and said “No. I can’t give up. I won’t be lazy like this; I have to try.” (More often than not, this was a result of the goading of my parents and, in hindsight, I really owe them a lot more than I think any of us realize.) And then, invariably, I did. I did try. A lot of the time my past failings made it a lot more difficult to claw my way out of the holes I’d dug for myself. But each year, miraculously, I managed to scrape by with at least a passing grade.
But this year it’s going to be different. Mom, Dad, if y’all read this, know now that I’m refusing to let myself coast this last year. I won’t have that downward spiral between Christmas and Easter, even with the job. I won’t even let that get in my way — I’ll do whatever it takes, live off caffeine and determination if I have to, to make this year go right for once. And it had better; it’s my last one.
And that’s what makes me proud, is that I won’t give up.
Living on Writer's Block 
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