But, of course, this was my second first semester of graduate school. The first first semester was in 2002. I was 23 years old, and I was a newlywed. T and I took all of our belongings out of our studio apartment (where we had lived together for only three months) and put them into the back of my dad's pickup truck. We packed ourselves, my sister, and my friend Marcy into our 1992 Dodge Shadow and drove down to New Orleans, with my parents and the pickup truck not far behind. We didn't even have a place to live in New Orleans, and I think we were too young to be particularly nervous about it.
I was pursuing a Master's degree in English, and T was getting a Master's of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. I don't recall either of us having any particular career goal in mind at that time. We were excited about the opportunity to live in a new place. We were excited about the challenge, and about the idea of having an "M" after our names (as in, JABS, M.A.).
To help pay for school, we had teaching assistantships, and so we became teachers.
Eight years later, after selling a large number of our belongings, we put most of what remained into a small storage unit in Omaha, Nebraska, and packed the rest into four large suitcases to bring with us to Ifrane, Morocco. I spent a year doing undergraduate preparatory coursework in a completely new field. And now I am (incha'allah) one quarter of the way through with graduate coursework in that field. In most ways, it is an entirely different experience. This time, I'm not going to school out of a vague love of learning and of literature. I'm going to school to prepare for a job. If you know what kind of person I am, you might understand how strange this is.
In fact, I almost feel like I'm a different person this time around. Yes, the school experience itself is entirely different because it's online. But I'm not the same kind of student, either. While I have to some degree embraced the procrastinatory nature of being a student, I haven't done so nearly to the same degree as I did nine years ago. I have handed in almost every assignment and exam at least one or two days before the due date. I don't stay up late writing papers. I'm not nearly as afraid, this time around, to admit when I don't know or don't understand something.
The one way in which I really haven't changed as a student is that the familiar fear of failure is still present. But again, I think I'm more open about it this time around. And I see that my classmates have the same fear. For most of us, this is a second or third (or more) crack at figuring out what we want to be when we grow up. Many of my classmates have spouses who are working extra hard so they can take time off to go to school, and money is tight for them. They have children who put heavy demands on their time and attention. They have aging parents to worry about. So much more is at stake this time that it makes sense for the fear to be more intense.
I hope this means, though, that in a year and a half the success will be that much sweeter.
Lovely, thoughtful post as always, JABS (M.A) :)
ReplyDeleteI'm rooting for you!!
I think that the experience of being a teacher would help make you an even better student than you were, the first time around. As I told you in a previous post, I was not a particularly good college student. (Goodness knows, I tried.)
In the unlikely scenario that I go back to grad school I think I'll be a much better student.