Three Thousand Days seems like a number you could hold till you attempt to carry it. It stacks like dinners quickly consumed, like promises changed subtly, like sunsets you missed. Three thousand days is long enough to erase beginnings and short enough to be frightened of endings. It asks what remained when enthusiasm waned, therefore measuring endurance more than hope and patience more than time.
You stop counting hours on day three thousand. You count classes. You see the weight of repetition and the release of persistence. Little decisions show their genuine scale. What made matter was because it mattered. Three thousand days isn't a just a finishing point. This is proof. Proof that turning up alters you, that time rewards attention, and that meaning develops when commitment refused to quit.
