(no subject)
I registered for graduate school. If I follow through, I'll be taking classes in museums such as this place, where a full-size mother brontosaurus can whisper test answers to me through the ceiling.
The drive was six or seven hours. Doable. I packed light the morning I left: one pair of jeans, my snow-stained suede boots I haven't bothered to replace, a few cardigans, a black shirt. Some granola bars. All that formality of traveling by air -- buying tickets, waiting in lines, dragging luggage -- was absent. Sometime in the morning Bryan and I headed east out of Iowa, and sometime in the evening we were at a hotel restaurant sipping grape juice martinis. It was casual, and one of the big draws of staying in the Midwest: I could come home if I needed to.
And then the next day, Tuesday, I wanted to go home. The thing is, the worst thing that happened to me the whole time was having sweaty palms as we navigated the interstate loops toward downtown Indy. Even tulips and magnolias were blooming in the lots of boarded-up houses. The program is exactly what I am looking for: a general degree with on-the-job experience and a professional network under my belt by the time I hit the market (again). A program that encourages civic engagement and reflexive learning. I was drawn to one of the professors immediately; she offered me a paid position on her oral history project if funding goes through (I wonder how many times I'm going to say that from now on). A few days ago, the director offered a partial tuition scholarship. And the students I met bent over backwards to make sure I felt welcome.
"What are you waiting for?" My mom asked me the other night. "This career combines everything you love."
I spent three days visiting campus in Indianapolis being afraid of actually living in Indianapolis. It was almost as if I was walking around in disbelief -- not only acclimating to the idea that I applied to grad school in the first place, but that I got accepted to grad school. The "urban" campus wasn't anything like the tall oaks, lush lawns, and old Greek revival style buildings I nestled in during undergrad. There were students with backpacks, but the student union looks a shopping mall/art gallery hybrid. Once in Indianapolis a new life became real, but it wasn't in a way I was expecting, or how I thought it would feel.
In retrospect, it's easy to apply. Though it took me about six months of gathering reference letters and transcripts, editing essays, and studying for entrance exams, I filled out the application in the midst of my everyday life. In the same place I've lived for 24 years. I got up, went to work, hung out with friends, saw my family every day. Somewhere in between there, I wrote about what I wanted to do -- eventually. I suppose with the expectation that I'd be ready to leap as soon as the time came.
I was relieved to return to Iowa City. To feel comfortable. But then I Googled some pretty pictures of Indianapolis, thumbed through a class syllabus in the bathtub and suddenly, graduate school didn't seem so bad again. Could I have ever made that decision while in the city a week ago? No.
Mom said that she didn't know if she could blossom at age 24, which is her way of saying that she wouldn't have to the guts to pack up and move to a new city and be a graduate student. Or have the guts to take on massive loans and work during the day and attend classes in the evening. I'm surprised I even had the guts to visit in the first place. I thought exploring a new city was going to be like a vacation, like every other time I've visited a new city. Nope. I cried.
"Maybe when I'm 50 I could do that, but not at 24," she said. Mom's 58. We were on our way to get ice cream. She's surprisingly supportive of this whole thing, though. As much as she can be for a mother who loves having her kid around to cook dinner for and watch Project Runway and work on the garden. I told her it's kind of like I'm one of those green tomatoes that gets artificially gassed to speed up the ripening process.
"What about a paper bag?" Mom asked. "I'd much rather ripen in a paper bag."
The thing is, I don't feel like I have that kind of time to adjust. I have from now until August. I jump in the pool or I stay on the side and play it safe. If I go, this will be the most proactive and expensive thing I've ever done in my life. I hope it's worth it.
The drive was six or seven hours. Doable. I packed light the morning I left: one pair of jeans, my snow-stained suede boots I haven't bothered to replace, a few cardigans, a black shirt. Some granola bars. All that formality of traveling by air -- buying tickets, waiting in lines, dragging luggage -- was absent. Sometime in the morning Bryan and I headed east out of Iowa, and sometime in the evening we were at a hotel restaurant sipping grape juice martinis. It was casual, and one of the big draws of staying in the Midwest: I could come home if I needed to.
And then the next day, Tuesday, I wanted to go home. The thing is, the worst thing that happened to me the whole time was having sweaty palms as we navigated the interstate loops toward downtown Indy. Even tulips and magnolias were blooming in the lots of boarded-up houses. The program is exactly what I am looking for: a general degree with on-the-job experience and a professional network under my belt by the time I hit the market (again). A program that encourages civic engagement and reflexive learning. I was drawn to one of the professors immediately; she offered me a paid position on her oral history project if funding goes through (I wonder how many times I'm going to say that from now on). A few days ago, the director offered a partial tuition scholarship. And the students I met bent over backwards to make sure I felt welcome.
"What are you waiting for?" My mom asked me the other night. "This career combines everything you love."
I spent three days visiting campus in Indianapolis being afraid of actually living in Indianapolis. It was almost as if I was walking around in disbelief -- not only acclimating to the idea that I applied to grad school in the first place, but that I got accepted to grad school. The "urban" campus wasn't anything like the tall oaks, lush lawns, and old Greek revival style buildings I nestled in during undergrad. There were students with backpacks, but the student union looks a shopping mall/art gallery hybrid. Once in Indianapolis a new life became real, but it wasn't in a way I was expecting, or how I thought it would feel.
In retrospect, it's easy to apply. Though it took me about six months of gathering reference letters and transcripts, editing essays, and studying for entrance exams, I filled out the application in the midst of my everyday life. In the same place I've lived for 24 years. I got up, went to work, hung out with friends, saw my family every day. Somewhere in between there, I wrote about what I wanted to do -- eventually. I suppose with the expectation that I'd be ready to leap as soon as the time came.
I was relieved to return to Iowa City. To feel comfortable. But then I Googled some pretty pictures of Indianapolis, thumbed through a class syllabus in the bathtub and suddenly, graduate school didn't seem so bad again. Could I have ever made that decision while in the city a week ago? No.
Mom said that she didn't know if she could blossom at age 24, which is her way of saying that she wouldn't have to the guts to pack up and move to a new city and be a graduate student. Or have the guts to take on massive loans and work during the day and attend classes in the evening. I'm surprised I even had the guts to visit in the first place. I thought exploring a new city was going to be like a vacation, like every other time I've visited a new city. Nope. I cried.
"Maybe when I'm 50 I could do that, but not at 24," she said. Mom's 58. We were on our way to get ice cream. She's surprisingly supportive of this whole thing, though. As much as she can be for a mother who loves having her kid around to cook dinner for and watch Project Runway and work on the garden. I told her it's kind of like I'm one of those green tomatoes that gets artificially gassed to speed up the ripening process.
"What about a paper bag?" Mom asked. "I'd much rather ripen in a paper bag."
The thing is, I don't feel like I have that kind of time to adjust. I have from now until August. I jump in the pool or I stay on the side and play it safe. If I go, this will be the most proactive and expensive thing I've ever done in my life. I hope it's worth it.