I’ve mastered English. Or, at least, I’ve earned a Master’s degree in English. It feels …
Not really any different than before. Who’d have thought that a piece of paper doesn’t actually change the way you feel about yourself as a writer? (Unless that piece of paper is a publishing contract, perhaps, but I can’t speak from experience.) In fact, I don’t even have the piece of paper; at the ceremony, we got diploma holders, since final grades aren’t submitted until the following Wednesday. It’s possible we won’t actually get the grades we need to graduate.
I passed, by the way. Barring postal mishap, I will soon have that piece of paper.
The most exciting part about being done? Having the energy and brain power I used to spend on school back to myself. For writing, in part, but also for other pursuits—taking my dog for leisurely walks, studying Mandarin, maybe even finding a place to take up yoga seriously. That last one, though, will have to wait a bit; it won’t do me much good to find a yoga class in Muncie when I am, in short order, going to be elsewhere.
Specifically, Asheville, North Carolina.
I’ve spent a bit of time in Asheville, enough to become smitten, and, having no factors requiring me in a given place, I decided to make it my plan. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was on a whim, but I didn’t exactly make a pro-con list comparing a wide range of options. Still, it’s been on my mind for several months, and I haven’t yet come up with a reason to think it’s a terrible idea, so I have given it some thought.
Monday, I’m driving down to look at a house to rent. I’ve been putting in applications for jobs all over the spectrum. (My resume that includes a link to my website, so if you’re reading this because I applied for a job with you, hi! I’m super competent, I promise.)
We’ll see what happens.