I'm not sure what an epiphany feels like, but I assume what I felt on Saturday morning was just that, an epiphany of epic proportions.
Saturday morning I attended the University of Washington's Master of Library and Information Sciences information session. My mind has wandered since I lost my job last December, floating back and forth between hopeful dreams of returning to academia and a fear of rejection, change, uncertainty, and complacency. Unknown to my dedicated readers, or even most of my family and friends, I have already missed two of the earlier information sessions. Although the dates and times have been clearly marked on my calendar, as each one approached I managed to find a way out of attending.
"I'll go to the next one," I'd tell myself. "It was my schedule," I'd reason, when really it was only fear holding me back. This time, I forced myself.
For nearly 5 years I attended the University of Washington and yet I was nowhere prepared for the overpowering feelings of longing and nostalgia that hit me the moment I emerged from the underground parking garage. As the cold wind brushed my cheeks all I could think was, "I'm home."
Throughout the morning, professors, students and advisors told us everything we'd ever want to know about getting an MLIS at UW. As I sat in those chairs with my coffee, my pen and my paper I felt the most overwhelming desire to never leave. I wanted to live in these chairs forever, breathe the smell of a new classroom eternally, fall asleep to the sounds of the professors soft voice, the chiming of the classroom bells, and the shuffle of students feet.
The program opened my eyes and reminded me that there are things I have yet to accomplish, talents I have yet to tap into, skills I have yet to master. The doubts that had begun to creep into my mind, thoughts that I might forever simply have 'a job' instead of a 'career', feelings of despair, unworthiness, and the overwhelming intuition that I might always be the less qualified candidate began ever so slowly to dissipate as I sat and listened.
For the first time in a very long time I felt inspired. Inspired that I might regain control of the trajectory of my life. That I might once again surround myself with the world of academia, that I might find a path, a mission, a purpose that I could be proud of. More than anything, I left that information session convinced once again that I had a future.
I had contemplated attending grad school via an online program. I figured it would be the easiest way to work full time and also earn my degree. Yet as I sat in those chairs, surrounded by other eager and determined minds I knew I would never be satisfied slaving away, trapped behind my computer screen. I longed to walk through a campus, study in libraries, have long drawn out conversations with professors in dingy offices, I ached to sip coffee on the steps of a historical marker, work on group projects, and get to know my fellow students. I loved every single thing about going to college, and to deprive myself the happiness that comes from being a full time college student would be to only continue to take things from myself I know bring me peace. I would be knowingly depriving myself of joy.
With the session complete I wandered aimlessly throughout campus. The cool fall air had transformed the university grounds into the wonderland I first fell in love with at 17. Without realizing it I found myself standing before Suzzallo Library.
As I stepped inside I had to stop to catch my breath. All the memories of my first visit nearly 8 years ago began to flood back. The first time I visited this library it cemented my decision to apply to the University of Washington. This school had called to me, the city seemed to have been made just for me, and this particular library seemed to have been crafted from the depths of my imagination.
Eventually I stumbled out of the building aching with memories, tears beginning to well in my eyes. As I drove away from UW I could no longer contain the emotions that had been struggling to escape since I'd stepped foot on campus that morning. I sobbed. Deep guttural lonely sobs. I cried for Seattle, a city I had never wanted to leave, a city I longed for, a place I felt was crafted just for me. I cried for the loss of my career, for my careening self confidence and the confusion that seemed to ever cloud my judgment. I cried with joy in realizing that I could fix this, that I could seek out something better for myself, that I could reclaim my career path, that one day I might again find myself a student with dreams so big I can hardly contain them. I cried and cried and cried because first I know I must wait.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
After everything, the inspiration, the love, the longing, I have no immediate plans. As dull as it may seem, nothing in my life will change any time soon. The economy is still in shambles, there are still far too many unemployed to compete with, and there is no program here in Olympia that would give me the sort of degree or experience that I crave.
But with all that, there are things I CAN do. I can begin to study for my GRE, I can work on collecting my letters of recommendation before people's memories of me become too fuzzy, volunteer at the local library, and most of all, I can fill myself with hope. Hope that it will get better, that I still have a bright future, and hope that eventually I will feel as if I am again marching forward towards a dream.
Until then, I wait. And hope. And mostly, dream.
