I have (day)dreams of living a normal life...getting up in the morning, driving to the office, sitting in my cubicle for the next 8 hours, driving home, cooking dinner and watching TV until bedtime. Going on actual dates with my boyfriend instead of just talking on the phone 2 hours a day (some days, not all!) and having something to talk about besides how I'm (not) adjusting to life in Chicago.
I am really, really torn. A couple days ago, I was torn enough to cry for oh, I don't know, about 4 hours straight. Today, I've got that under control, but I'm still feeling really--off.
I'm not a quitter, so even though I have major doubts about the rightness of me being here, I'm in it for the long haul. Unless something more practical and more pleasant somehow hits me upside the head. Hence the title of this post: Counterproductive. This little emotional crisis I'm having is definitely not helping me get stuff done. Not helping me write poems, even though I play the angsty poet card all the time. Not helping me be successful at anything.
I took the MFA path to see if I could really be a writer. And I found out I can. Am I taking the PhD path to find out if I can really be a scholar? Because that's what it feels like, but that's not exactly what I'd intended. Do I really want to teach? Or do I just want the benefits of an academic schedule? These are questions that I am constantly asking myself...and I can't come up with an answer.
Another issue I'm having is that my family is really, really important to me and it is absolutely breaking my heart to be away from them. I thought because I wasn't married and didn't have children that I somehow didn't have roots and could go where ever I wanted. How stupid am I? My home is my parents and my sisters...not northeast Ohio. They used to tease me about what a Mama's girl I was. When I was little, I hated sleepovers because I got homesick. When I went to girl scout camp, I had to sleep next to the troop leaders or I wouldn't sleep at all. Everyone said I would never move away...and I hated it. I hated thinking I was that needy, that dependent. And now I realize they were right. Sure, it's gotten easier since that first week when I was blocking my door with piles because I didn't trust the deadbolt...but it still doesn't feel right.
People are telling me I haven't given it enough time...but in my experience, when something is this hard to adjust to, it's usually because it isn't right.
Alas, like I already said, I'm not a quitter. So nothing is going to change, except now the whole world knows how I'm feeling. That's okay. I'm kind of an open book anyhow.
Poem: Far Gone
2 days ago
1 comment:
Hi Sara,
I'm one of your lurkers who hasn't commented before, I think.
Listen: every MFA/poet I know who went into a PhD program struggled like crazy the first year. Something about the way we are put together, I think, the connections that we seem to feel so strongly to people and places makes change so difficult.
I never did a PhD, so I never had to commit to living someplace for that long, but I remember being so intimidated and afraid of Baltimore when I went there. Four months later I was in love with the city and 9 months later I cried for the entire 8-hour drive away.
But that is me and you are you and really, if you give it a year and you still hate it, still struggle, then change your plans. Apply to other programs, think up other dream jobs, apply THIS YEAR for all the writing fellowships (most programs will give you a leave of absence to pursue something like that), etc.
And good luck.
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