Saying the word "yes" can be harrowing.

It's a dangerous game we play, making decisions and sticking with them. But whichever we make, be they "yes" or "no" or "just not now," our lives will continue onward, and time will always pass.

But there's a leap we take when we say, "Yes." After all, it's usually "yes" instead of "no" which leads us into unknown territories, like a new relationship or job.

That's why it's absolutely terrifying. And absolutely magical.

Throughout college, we're presented with a lot of opportunities to say "yes" (though some less deserving of it than others). And even after college, we're applying for jobs, meeting people, saying "yes" to spending the rest of our lives with some of them. Our Facebook pages are filled to the brim with friends and family who have said, "Yes," and had their entire lives moved in a drastic direction.

I've always had a hard time saying "Yes." That simple step forward can cause so much fear. The risk seems to always outweigh the reward. Stepping out of our comfort zones, stepping out of the safety net of indecision, can make our hearts beat faster than we'd ever thought possible. Even clicking on the "send" button for professional emails still makes me shrivel up in my desk chair.

But it was Junior year, and I was on my way to a concert when a peculiar thing happened. It was raining in Lynchburg, the city where my college is, and it was raining hard. That wasn't out of the ordinary at all, though; it always rains in Drenchburg Lynchburg. But I had forgotten an umbrella and the rain was coming down like rivers, battering against the glass doors of our student center.

Other students were glancing outside, similar looks on their faces. I stood in the space between the doors leading to the student center, and the doors leading outside and to the concert hall. It was an obligatory two-hour concert, and I would be soaked.

"Go for it," said a voice to my side.

I turned to see somebody else in the entryway, also looking at the rain. "It's just rain," he said, smiling.

I laughed a bit, just to be polite, then turned back to the doors. Massive puddles had already gathered on the brick walkways, and the grassy yard was flooding with water. I don't think he knew it, but as I opened the doors wide, immediately pelted with rain, I had already made up my mind.

But his words still rang in my head, even as the concert played. "Go for it"; say, "Yes."

That kind of reckless abandon, the almost childlike picture of the person who forgets their umbrella and goes out into the rain anyway—I wanted that. There were so many things I wanted to say "yes" to in college and never did. I don't regret all of them, but I know that some of my missed "yes's" could have changed a lot.

Even after college, I'm still finding myself in places where I can say "yes." To job searches, to interviews, to how I spend my time, to who I want to be, to how I invest in myself. Once we graduate, it seems like the possibilities for who we can become are endless; but we must learn to leap, to say "yes," and start our life.

Saying "yes" is magical, because we are putting our faith and our trust in a future of untold possibility—a future we can try to measure and predict, but will still change us in the end. The not-knowing, the anxiety, the fear, it is pure magic when these all wash away, and we are left with a simple, "Yes."

Change doesn't have to be something to fear. In fact, change can mean more to us than we'd ever know if only we'd just say, "Yes." Yes to new opportunities, yes to meeting new people, yes to thinking critically, yes to going for a run—

Say, "Yes," because life can be a beautiful thing, and you will never know where yours will lead if you never take a leap into the rain, and imagine that everything can change.

Go for it!