45 years old. In the fall I start my undergraduate studies in Literature & Writing. It has been a long time coming.
This has been a dream of mine for many years. I didn’t have the opportunity after high school to go to college. Life, circumstances and all that stuff. There was no traditional trajectory, so I attended community college to get here. In my 20s, 30s and 40s, while traversing through life, I took classes here and there until I had enough to transfer to a four-year university.
And here I am.
And I’m petrified.
But I got here, and that’s all that matters. A sage friend once told me, when I complained about being almost 50 by the time I have a Master’s, “Well, you’ll be 50 anyway. Might as well be 50 with a Master’s.” Words of wisdom.
School doesn’t begin for a couple of months. 5 classes, all Lit & Writing-related. That’s a shock in and of itself. No more horrible biology. No more mind-crushing math. General Education be damned! A couple of professors have already emailed book lists and I think it’s safe to say I won’t be seeing daylight for the next several months.
And I’m tickled. Petrified, but tickled.