Matriculation Anticipation

About a year ago, I wrote a post titled "Shame". Some of you may remember it. And many of you have read the various posts I have written about losing my sense of self amid the chaos of motherhood, struggling to find that identity again, and facing the fact that I am completely and totally dependant upon my husband.

I don't expect anything to happen, but nobody ever does. It's a truly frightening prospect.

How would I provide for my children? I would provide, of that there is no question. I am a strong, intelligent, resourceful and determined woman. But the cold hard reality is that I would probably be forced to do work that is unsatisfying at best, exhausting and demeaning at worst.

When I was young, I carved out a place for myself in the professional arena through hard work, calculated choices, and some good old fashioned ass kissing. But it wasn't easy, and it wasn't quick. And there were times that I was passed over for positions, projects and accolades that I deserved because I did not have a piece of paper with my name and some letters after it.

Still, I was proud of what I had achieved despite my lack of a formal education. I was respected. People thought I was smart and capable. I earned a decent paycheck. And that was enough.

I don't have the time or the patience for that now. I'm too old. I'm too opinionated. And ass kissing isn't something that comes easily to me anymore. Not that it ever did. Nor is being ordered about by some pimple faced lackey on a power trip. Or doing mindless busywork.

And I don't think that it would be enough anymore.

So, what to do? What to do.

I've been ruminating, contemplating. Obsessing, if you want to know the truth. I've tried this, I've considered that. I've dabbled. But I haven't found that thing, yet. That thing that makes me feel that YES, this is for me.

Writing is what I was meant to do. Unquestionably. But how to translate that into a life, a career, an identity?

I've looked at writing groups, writing workshops, writing courses. They all looked good. Validating. Fulfilling. But I have to tell you, I was and am intimidated. Not because I can't write. I'm not going to insult you by feigning modesty. I am a competent writer. I am a good writer. And I know that.

But I have no credentials. Of any kind. And that bothers me. Whether it should or shouldn't is really immaterial, because it does. That it is what it is. And it's time to fix what it is.

So. At the age of 38, I am going to go to college. Actually, 39, as I will probably not start until the fall semester.

That scares the living shit out of me.

But it also gives me a feeling of anticipation and excitement that I haven't experienced for a very long time.

I will be majoring in English...natch. And maybe, if I can actually tough it out long enough to earn a Bacherlor's degree, I will go on to earn my Masters of Arts in Professional Writing. How. Cool. Is. That?

I have to say, that I am an enormously fortunate woman to be able to do this. I don't have to worry about trying to manage homework on top of a full time job, motherhood and household responsibilities. It's still going to be a bit of a juggling act, but at least I will have fewer balls in the air than the average Jane.

When I finally decided I was resolved enough to talk to my husband about it, he said, "That's GREAT, baby. We can do this. YOU can do this. Let's get the ball rolling."

When I mentioned the cost, he assured me we would find a way.

You know, he's used to having clean socks and underwear appear magically in his drawer. He's used to a certain pace that our lifestyle affords us. He's used to a clean house, and clean kids. He's used to me having my finger in every pie that I need to.

And he did not, for one moment, consider how that might change before giving me his unconditional support.

The boys were very encouraging as well. But Diminutive One was somewhat concerned that he might have to go to ASP (After school program). The kids call ASP "After School Prison" and I can't blame them. It is run much as one would imagine a maximum security detainment facility might be run. And depending upon my class schedule, it's possible that he will have to go to ASP once or twice a week.

Husband told the boys gently, but emphatically, "Boys, we can make some sacrifices so that Mom can go to school. Mom has sacrificed a LOT for us, and God knows she doesn't do anything for herself. This is important to her, and we're going to do everything we can to help her do it."

You know, I've made my own choices and I've made them willingly, eagerly. They didn't feel like sacrfices when I made them. In fact, I felt, once again, extremely lucky. But somewhere along the way, I did sacrifice myself without even realizing it. I began to live my life as only a mother instead of an individual. Their lives became my life.

It felt good to have that acknowledged. And it felt good to have someone acknowledge the fact that it's okay to want more for myself. Because as much as I hate that I have allowed motherhood to usurp everything else, I still wrestle with my conscience when it comes to putting myself first, and how that reflects upon me as a mother.

So. I'm going to college. Man. It's going to be...weird. And wonderful. And exciting. And frightening.

I don't know whether to dance a jig or throw up.

But at least I'm feeling something other than boredom, apathy, and purposelessness.

I'll take it.