Honestly, unless it involves graduation, this is a blog post subject reserved for youngsters – the 25 & under crowd if you will.
A few months back I made the decision to return to school. My employer went beyond tuition reimbursement and began offering business degrees at no cost through select universities. I was over the moon with excitement. Dropping out of college is one of my biggest regrets, and after losing my Dad earlier this year, I promised myself I’d find a way to become a college graduate. If not for me, for him.
I went through the headaches everyone endures when returning to college. Applications. Transcripts. You name it. But I dealt with it because I was excited to once again be a college student. 30 of my community college credits transferred and I was left with a course list including math, chemistry, economics, statistics, and many other classes that meant nothing to me.
That’s when I realized I wasn’t at all excited to simply go back to school. I was excited for essays, short stories, and reading literature. I was excited for writing, and I wasn’t going to get that with my free degree. I would get an education that almost guaranteed a fat sum in my bank account when it was all said and done. As nice as that would be, the thought of large amounts of money don’t stimulate me the way they used to. I mean sure, who doesn’t want six figures in their bank account?
Me. If it means I have to wake up everyday and go to a job that doesn’t bring me joy, I don’t want it.
Meanwhile, in the midst of these realizations, it dawned on me that I know exactly what I want to major in. I’ve known since I was 16. English with emphasis on creative writing. There’s a reason I attempt Nanowrimo every year. There’s a reason I own no less than 5 writing prompt books and follow who knows how many writing blogs between WordPress and Tumblr.
I’m going on 31 years old & I’m starting over. This next week I’ll be in the admissions office declaring my major, just like I did at 21. Only this time, I’m being true to myself.
I’ll be 31 by the time classes start, and I refuse to let that scare me. You know what’s scarier than returning to college in your 30’s? Waking up in your 60’s and realizing you sold yourself short.
I suppose I should really start putting effort into these Bujo spreads. They’ll be my saving grace when January rolls around.