Yet I knew
that I needed to pursue in a structured fashion the need to write. I craved
community, stimulus, and opportunity. I have been told by some that in order to
write, one does not need classes but rather to simply sit down and do it! I
accepted this philosophy but recognized that an advanced degree was more than
the act or process of writing; it was time for me away from the demands of a
work life and a home life. I could be myself; a woman writing about her life,
and not the teacher, the mother, the wife.
Whether I attended a reading listening to a writer, crafted poems, read literature
I had not been previously exposed to, or worked on an assignment at my
computer, I was moving forward in the life of a writer.
So much of
my life has been about satisfying the needs of others: my family, my students,
my parents, my friends. What about me? Here, in this anonymous classroom, I
could carve out that space, and remember that this time was for me.
Prior to
applying to the MFA program, I had met with the director and had expressed my
concerns that I would not be able to fulfill the requirements, and it would
take too long to complete. I was in my mid fifties, for goodness sakes, and I
could not quit my job, nor take this on full time. It would take forever, and
was totally unrealistic. The director assured me that there were others
like me in the program who thought of the degree as a means to a second career,
or a way to finally achieve their dream of becoming writers and writing
professionally. This was a way of networking, being published, meeting other
writers, and becoming part of a writing and academic community. Students
came after work in the late afternoon and in the evenings, and they were
teachers like me, technology professionals who wanted a change from Silicon Valley, or retirees. I decided to put away my
fears and concerns, and applied. I was accepted, and the path has been
rewarding. I am still plagued with anxiety, and I worry sometimes that I won’t
be able to complete the program or that it will take too long. I know that I am
not alone; I have met others in the program my age or older.
Many people
in their late forties, early fifties, and sixties, have decided to make a career
change or return to school. A husband of my colleague who was a professor of
English Literature and taught at college and high schools decided he wanted to
be a nurse. He made it happen and is now halfway through the program and
assured of a nursing position at a local hospital. I have a friend who changed
her career from social work to law. Today, she is a labor lawyer. She has not
regretted her decision.
Change is
possible, and part of the wonder of aging is the promise of possibility and
potential. We are not too old, just older, wiser, more experienced, and more determined.
My dream of
becoming a writer is unfolding and hopefully will continue to evolve as I tackle
everyday challenges and remind myself that this time in my life is mine. I
stare out of that classroom window and realize this is another beginning,
another way and another opportunity to do what I really want.
