the minor wrinkle, kink, uh-oh to my life plan.

For the past year or so, I have considered Grad school to be an inevitable in my life, the next obvious step for me to take after Behrend hands me a nice diploma. I also naively thought it was for everyone...just something people did to gain a Masters or Doctorate in something, to have a more professional resume, or something along those lines.

I'll admit that I am a naive 20 year old. I don't know much about life, really. But who does? My suite mate was sitting in our living room the other day and I asked her what she was studying. She held up a few books that had the words "GRE's" and some form of study guide material splayed across front cover. I was naive enough to ask what the GRE's were. Yeah. I asked that. Since I've been in college, I've been living under the impression that my awful and torturous days of SAT's were long since over. I apparently thought way wrong. The GRE is basically the entrance exam that Grad schools look at to determine who gets in and who does not. I assumed Grad schools accepted more people because the applicants are clearly more qualified than meager high school graduates applying to colleges. I thought Grad school was more prestige, minus the SAT/ACT-like entrance exams. Boy, oh boy, was I ever wrong.

So, I went to class the next day only to hear from my Advanced Fiction Writing professor that if BFA (Bachelor's of Fine Arts) majors are looking to get their Masters at Grad school, they should be able to go for free. I then asked how this was possible. He made it clear that many people with their BFA's simply become Teacher's Assistants at their presumed Grad school, and ride through classes and boarding for free. I recoiled upon hearing the idea.

It's not that I wouldn't give teaching a chance. No, it's more like I hyperventilate when I am asked to speak in class, let alone help teach a class...I would probably hyperventilate, get hives up and down my neck, and then pass flat out. That's kind of how the whole "talking" thing works with me. I don't consider myself socially awkward, by any means, but I am not a talker. I never have been.

My professor also bluntly mentioned that if BFA majors don't go to Grad school for free, there is really no point in going at all. This was news to me. I know that I don't have to go to Grad school, and I know that if I did...I would not go for a teaching degree. So, what would I go to Grad school for? Are you prepared to hear my foolish, are-you-out-of-your-mind answer? I wanted to get my Masters in something because I love school. I'm in love with the classroom environment, and I love reading novels, textbooks, any kind of scholarly material I can get my hands on. I am addicted to learning.

Of course Professor Noyes is one professor with an opinion...and I know that the decision is ultimately up to me. But what would I do with my life if I didn't go to Grad school right after my four lovely years of college? I know this sounds absurd...but I can't start my actual life in two short years. There's no way. I'm not ready to give myself over to some dead-end job until I write a novel or find a magazine to work for.

I feel like I need to go to Grad school, if only to prolong actual working life. I feel like I need to be more qualified if I ever want to work for a decent magazine corporation, or publish something of substance. And of course travel is always in the back of my mind. I would be the first one out of everyone I know to hop in my car and drive away into the sunset, heading anywhere with only the change in my pocket and a glitter of hope in my heart. I would leave in a heartbeat.

So, what do I do? Unnecessary Grad school loans, or the stifling working world? Dropping everything and traveling for a year? I don't know. But I don't want to be stuck in a rut right out of college like so many people my age are finding themselves to be in. I need to escape the rut. I need to do something, anything, to go somewhere and do what I truly desire to do.

I need to sleep on it for a while. And I suppose I shall.