What's Next?

Ah, Bloggerverse. It's always a challenge trying to communicate news and change to you, my followers. How much of an introduction should I give to said news? Should I ease into it? Should I just let my title give it away? Are these rhetorical questions enough of a build-up to stir some anxiety and anticipation within you as you now begin to wonder what it is I am going to tell you?

This story goes all the way back to last fall as I braced myself for life's big transition: from student to adult -- leaving the undergrad world for the cold, harsh reality of working hard for my money and moving back home with the "roomies." By that December as I neared my last few weeks at school, I had done minimal job hunting, lots of fun-having and only a little bit of philosophical thinking. While considering my options as I approached this inevitable change, I decided that, perhaps, I should return to the classroom the following fall to continue my education and pursue a masters degree. I did what I needed to do to make it happen: requested reference letters and transcripts, took the GREs, wrote required essays, and completed several applications -- applying to four schools and patiently waiting to hear whether my pursuit into another realm of higher education would continue come the fall of 2012.

After graduating, I was even more set on returning to grad school. It made sense. I loved being in the classroom, I wanted another degree, and I had the momentum from only just recently finishing up my undergraduate degree. I was ready. I was eager... and then I was torn. As I received acceptances and rejections, I realized: this was going to be an expensive endeavor and was I really sure? Was I willing to make a commitment to this costly continuation of my education right now? I wasn't 100% dedicated to the degree I had applied to pursue (journalism) and the cost of tuition was daunting. I made the decision to postpone my return to grad school until I was more certain of the degree I wanted to pursue and that grad school, in general, was a step I wanted to take.

As the first few months of summer went by, I was a 9-to-5 ingenue. Only having been at my job for so long, being a cubicle crony was still a novelty, and yet, the thought of returning to grad school was still lingering in my mind. I had since given more thought to the degree path I wanted to pursue, exploring a variety of options and programs, doing more research than I had ever done as an undergrad into the prospect of going back to school. I was more aware and realistic this time. I knew what needed to be done, what it would cost and the compromises I was willing to make.

So I applied. Again. This time, though, I applied to communications-based programs (such as public relations and integrated marketing communications) and one fashion program. I re-wrote the essays, re-requested the transcripts and reference letters and filled out a few more applications this time. I wrote down deadlines, requirements and filed important emails away for reference. I wasn't kidding around this time -- I knew, for sure, that I wanted to go back to school. I missed writing essays, engaging in scholarly discussion/debate and immersing myself in a wholly academic atmosphere where the people around me wanted to be there and also wanted to learn. I missed that. I needed the challenging intellectual stimulation that my desk job just wasn't giving me. I wasn't satisfied with my cubicle confinement and I had the urge to learn -- an urge that, I have a feeling, never has (and probably never will) leave me.

I continued at my desk job, waiting for a response from the various schools and this time, it was even more positive. I got into 5/6 schools and of those schools' acceptances, I got very generous scholarships to each. This time, the ball was in my court -- each school had given me great offers and I was no longer in a position where I needed to scrounge for dollars and cents to make it all work. Inside, I was elated -- an internal fiesta took place as I celebrated these little victories, finally culminating after years of hard work as a student.I could return to school and I wasn't going to go broke in the process! Isn't that what we all aspire to accomplish in this day and age?

My decision was tough -- I battled with the pros and cons of each school, but ultimately, it came down to two, which were both excellent options. One would have required me to take a pre-requisite undergraduate class, move to the South and take out a lot more in loans; the other would allow me to stay local, offering me a very generous financial package and teaching assistantship and the option of spending my last semester interning and taking classes in London. Ultimately, I accepted the offer to the local school -- they have an excellent program, a great alumni base and a positive reputation for post-graduate employment opportunities. Plus, their generous financial package allows me to take out very minimal loans (if I even have to). I can breathe a big sigh of relief -- I am finally going to make it happen.

So there you have it, folks. I am returning to the classroom this fall -- both as a student and as a teacher. I'll admit, I'm equally excited and nervous to make the transition back to school, since I've spent the last year working, but I think I'm ready. I'll prepare for the new challenge and you can prepare yourselves for some new blog posts -- how's that sound?

In the words of Billy Madison, here goes nothin.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMtkiS1SU_c

You Are What You Do

Scary picture, but scarily appropriate
http://collegemedia.files.wordpress.com/2012/05/screen-shot-2012-05-14-at-2-56-48-am.png?w=500&h=366

Throughout the first twenty-something-or-so years of our lives, we recent post-grads have identified as a "student," or, at best, a "student of (insert focus of study here)." It was easy. From kindergarten until the end of our years in higher education, our identity was inextricably linked to our education and what it was we wanted to do with that education. We were never plagued with the ominous question of "so, what do you do?" because it was self-explanatory: we went to class, we learned, we were working towards a degree. The majority of our life was consumed by academics to that point. No pressure, no worry about what it is we were going to do with that accumulation of knowledge, simply that we were immersed in it, and far too inundated with schoolwork to really broach any silly questions of the practical implications of our degrees and what that meant about us.

But when the tassel inevitably moves to the other side of your mortarboard and your degree is hanging up on your wall in the same room you grew up in (and will now, again be living in), people are no longer satisfied with an answer filled with potentially lofty-goals or innocent dreams. The first thing they ask is: "what do you do" and, by golly, you better have a good answer.

We have abandoned the security blanket of answering with "I'm a student," and forced to identify ourselves in terms of our current job. While answering as a student may have allowed you to be associated with all sorts of grand aspirations, answering "what do you do" with your current entry-level job leaves much to be desired. Instead of being able to cling to the things I love to do and want to do when coupled with my academic path, I have to identify with the ugly reality that is: I work at an entry-level job, I don't get to do all of the things I love to do (nor pursue any of my interests) and I am more interesting than my job lets on. (I swear!) 

And yet, when someone asks me what I do, that's the starting point. The conversation builds upon what it is that I do and if first impressions are important, then what sort of impression am I making in the first five minutes of conversation by having to identify with a job I really can't identify with?

Such a simple question, and yet, I can never answer the same way twice. I immediately find myself trying to explain it in the simplest terms and then adding a precusory, "Oh, I know, it's boring" in an attempt to separate who I am from my job. I don't want my answer, or more specifically, my job (at this early point in my career), to equate to who I am, what I care about, and what I want to do with my life. For those who know me, it's obvious that there is far more to me than the office job and cubicle I frequent 40-hours a week. But I just cannot escape the question and the inevitable bridge it forms to who I am. I may spend five days a week in my cubicle, but who I am is not what I do, certainly not in my current position. I might be working towards a better job or career path that would be more cohesive with my personality and my values, but I'm just not there yet and it's sometimes defeating when that is one of the first questions that I'm asked in order to help a new acquaintance assemble my identity.

I recognize this is something that is going to happen regardless of whether or not I cause a fuss about the question, ignore it, or create some public service announcement about the emotionally damaging side effects of being asked this question a few years post-grad. What can I do about it? Not much. But in the mean time, I'm trying to make it a point to steer conversations more towards those aspirations and goals I have. I still got 'em, folks, despite being the jaded working girl that I am these days, and I am going to make them happen.

SNOW DAY?!

Unfortunately, this post is less about the movie and more about the actual  day itself.
from movies.tvguide.com

Let me first start off by saying: I am not a cold-weather-loving gal. I am cold for about eight months out of the year, hate piling on layers of clothing and can barely navigate through snowy weather – regardless of whether it’s on foot or by car. However, as a kid, bound to the seemingly intolerable structure that my school schedule demanded of me, I would eagerly anticipate the snow fall and its implications of potential freedom from what I then considered the “daily grind.” Never one to tempt fate, I would do all of my homework the night before while keeping my eyes glued to the scrolling queue at the bottom of the TV, which seemed to grant every other young student their wish for a day filled with sleeping in, sledding, hot chocolate and movie marathons. Every time the list would get closer to the Bs (the first letter of the town I lived in), my heart would race, palms would sweat and I’d offer up a plethora of sacrifices to the Snow Gods in exchange for the beloved “snow day.”  Once I saw my school’s name stretch across the screen, I was immersed in a single moment of pure euphoria.

However many years later, I still experience that same aching anticipation at the prospect of a “snow” day. This time, though, instead of avoiding a six-hour-day filled with geometry, the joys of physical education and twenty-minutes surviving the socially-abhorrent and “click”-ridden cafeteria, I would be avoiding a ten-hour-long-commute and eight-hour slavery to my computer screen. At the first sign of snowfall, my mind races with thoughts of “working from home,” enabling me to cuddle up on my couch and go about my usual work business, all while watching the entire first season of Downton Abbey. Of course, I realize this “snow day” is a bit different from the ones I was used to in those earlier years; however, I still feel a reprieve from a demanding work schedule and find that a little disruption in my routine goes a long way in making me feel refreshed for the next day of work. I know that some people do this every day, but when you’re chained to an excessively long commute and less-than-desirable office position, the opportunity to be uprooted and welcome a bit of “chaos” from the norm is enough to make you jump up and down in your onesie you have probably specifically saved for the cold and snowy occasion.

With the impending blizzard upon New England, I find myself treating Thursday like it’s Friday (just like I used to in the pre-post-grad era!) and looking forward to answering work emails in the company of my dog. Sure, this snow day is pre-empted by my company’s wish to keep its employees safe and out of the potential danger that associates itself with obnoxious amounts of snowfall – but the euphoria is no different from that I felt in yesteryears.

Stay warm peeps.