If all goes according to plan, one year from now, I will be a college graduate. Don’t worry, I’m not going to launch into some nostalgic rant or preach about the importance of starting a new adventure. I am going to ponder what the hell I’m doing with my life, but hey, at least I won’t whine or stick my nose up.
I’ve decided to go to graduate school. It just seems like the next logical step. Even though I bitch incessantly about the stress of university, I do love it. I’m good at school. I know how to work the system, and it is a huge part of my identity. I’m not ready to give it up just yet.
So, I’ve decided to get my Master’s Degree in Writing, Editing, and Publishing. I like to write. I enjoy editing (probably because red is my favorite color, and I love feeling superior to others). And I think the publishing industry is my best chance for making a butt-load of money with an English degree. I may also be able to be a professor. I’m leaving my options open. In other words, I’ve made a decision that allows me to procrastinate making the real decision.
I think I’m just at the point in my life where the decisions are becoming irreversible. At this point, I can’t change my Bachelor’s Degrees. Luckily, I’m pleased with them. Once I get accepted into a graduate school, that decides my Master’s and, ultimately, my career.
I think I’m just a little worried that I’ll fail. I feel like I’ve been given a bow and arrow, and I have to shoot a target while blindfolded. I know the general area of the target, I’ve seen other people shoot an arrow, but I have no idea how to pull this off myself.
What if I decide I don’t want to sit around and help other writers reach their dreams? What if I try my hand at writing and realize I’m horrid or don’t love it?
I could always be a housewife. Better learn how to cook…