When I was around 9 years old, my mom bought me a brown dress to wear to my sister’s Bat Mitzvah. I loved that dress, but we knew it would be difficult to find shoes to match. My only real option was to find a pair in the same, specific brown, so we put the dress in a shopping bag and went to the mall.

We went to store after store finding shoes that were too uncomfortable, too hard to walk in, or, of course, the wrong shade of brown, until we found the perfect pair. Not too high of a heel, a flattering shape, the right price, and almost the exact color of the dress. The only problem was, they didn’t have my size. This was in 2006 and online shopping wasn’t exactly what it is today, so if they didn’t have the shoes in the store, we weren’t going to be able to buy them. My mom put the shoe back on the display, looked at me, and said, “It wasn’t meant to be.” She walked out, and I followed.

That sentence was a variation on a common phrase — “If it’s meant to be, it will be” — that my mom uses a lot. Eighteen years after using that variation to describe a pair of brown shoes, I found my mom using it again as I was searching for a post-law-school job.

Last fall, I interviewed for a clerkship position at the Massachusetts Appeals Court. When I made it past the first round, I started waiting anxiously for a call to schedule an interview with a judge. Finally, I got the email: I would be meeting with two judges the following week. I ironed my suit, learned as much as I could about those judges, and did my best in the interviews. A week or so later, I got two rejections. Don’t worry, if it’s meant to be, it will be.

For the next two months, my weeks followed the same pattern. I got an email to schedule two more interviews, I ironed my suit, I prepared, I performed, and I was rejected. Don’t worry, if it’s meant to be, it will be. I got an email to schedule three more interviews, I ironed my suit, I prepared, I performed, and I was rejected. Don’t worry, if it’s meant to be, it will be. And on and on and on.

I noticed the pumpkins that were put up for Halloween in the lobby of the Appeals Court, and I noticed when they were taken down a few weeks later. I heard about the baking competition that happens at the court every year around Thanksgiving. I got to know some of the security guards by name — one told me about his other profession (he owns a pizza restaurant), and another told me the story of the mysterious holes in the ceiling above the security desk. Somewhere along the way, I learned that the record number of interviews for a clerkship at the Appeals Court was seven. I blew that record away.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely loved interviewing with the judges. They were all really interesting people, and it was great to learn more about them, their careers, and their hobbies. And I was also grateful that each rejection was followed with another opportunity to find the right match. But after a while, the rejections did start to take a toll, and I was more than ready to hang up my suit for a little while.

Finally, I had the interview that wound up being the interview. It was lucky number ten, and it was the third that I had at the court that day. I sat down, we made a little small talk, she asked two questions about some experiences on my resume, and then we just chatted. We discussed how the yellow Red Sox jerseys were a travesty, we considered the pros and mostly the cons of our respective train stations, and we prepared to debate but then ultimately agreed upon the best kind of chocolate (dark chocolate is the easy winner, milk chocolate is fine, and white chocolate isn’t chocolate at all). A few days later, I was thrilled to be offered the job.

A lot of people told me I had to “trust the process” when applying for clerkships. I can’t say I always trusted the process, but I can say that it all eventually worked out for the best. I’m going to be working with a judge who I felt instantly comfortable talking with, and with whom I seem to share a similar demeanor and sense of humor. When it was meant to be, it finally was.

Less than two weeks out from graduation, I can’t help but reflect on what the past three years have brought me. And, with my mom’s phrase still rattling around in my head, I also can’t help but notice how so much of what made my law school experience what it was were things that started out as whims rather than plans. I applied for Law Review even when I thought I wouldn’t, and now my Note is going to be published next month. I joined the Impact Blog because a friend of mine was on it, and it helped me keep my passion for writing alive, which can be hard to do during law school. I even chose to go to Boston College Law School simply because I felt it was the best option available to me at the time, and it has brought me to this city, new friends, and countless memories that I’ll cherish for years to come.

I’m so thankful for my law school experience, but even more thankful to be taking the next step in my career and my life. I don’t know where the next few years will take me, but I am positive that whatever is meant to be, will be.

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Tess Halpern is a third-year student and president of the Impact blog. Contact her at halperte@bc.edu.