Borrowed Inspiration for Your Week: Confessions of an A Student

I haven’t had a chance to sped a lot of time talking about grad school on the blog.  There are several reasons for this.  I’m only taking one class right now so I don’t really feel like a “grad student” it’s just like I’m taking a class on Thursday nights for fun.  The other is that with the new job I feel like I’ve had so much more to talk about that felt more important.

But don’t be fooled. I am very, very excited about grad school and getting my master’s degree.  Its something that would be on my bucket list if I ever bothered to sit down and make a bucket list.  But it’s different than what I expected, and here’s why.

I have always been anal about my grades.  It was something that defined, something I was taught was very, very important way back in elementary school.  I have never not been on an honor roll or dean’s list in any semester I’ve taken a class.  Grades have always been a means to an ends.  Get into a good high school (where I’m from getting into a private high school is kind of a big deal), get a scholarship, look good on a resume, get a good job.  Getting good grades was always imperative for the future.

And while I’d like to say I initially started grad school with the purest of intentions…the big, main reason I did it was because I put out

hundreds of applications and had yet to get a job.  I was lost, didn’t know what to do, and thought I’ve always wanted to go to grad school and if I do well then someone has to give me a real, grown up job.  So you can imagine how paranoid I’ve been about grades.  And as those of you I grad school know…professors are tough on their grad students.  Those As are a lot harder to earn.  The work load is a lot heavier.  And in an attempt to turn your papers into publishable material those comments get a lot more…particular…

After one night of mental fatigue, break downs, and wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into I had a thought:

Now I have a job.  A good job that pays a decent salary.  A job where I am judged on my ability.  Where they do not care whether or not I have Master’s as long as I am a good worker willing to put in the time to do a job well.

That was the most freeing feeling in the world*.  Nothing is riding on this anymore.  For the first time in my student career I can work hard on a paper because I want to.  I can discuss a book because it’s interesting.  I can go to class because I want to learn.  I love learning and yet, I’ve never been able to say that before.  I’ve always been too focused on the ends to enjoy the means.

I wish I had been able to fill this when I was teaching.  To share with my former students how much I love learning about books.  How fantastic it is to have the opportunity to do that everyday.  That there is so much more than just getting that grade.  Hell, I wish I could go back in time and tell that to myself.  Maybe then I would have had more fun.

(*This feeling lasts for approximately 5 minutes of bliss at a time before I look at the hours of work left to do for my one class.  After which I continue to collapse into a pile of “what did I get myself into” while desperately wondering what I can do to keep my grades up because that’s how my brain is wired.  But for those 5 minutes, man do I love life…)