Tuesday, April 17, 2012

The Emerson story.

There are several checklists, written on notebook paper, and stuck to the doorframe in my bedroom. I put them there over a year ago when I was in the middle of applying to Grad school. The bottom sheet of paper has a list for every day of the week. Tasks are written in bold letters with my own made-up icons to designate varying degrees of importance. They are crossed out once, twice, and a third time with a satisfied flourish.

I stuck them to the wall, one on top of the other so I would see and take notice of them at the beginning and end of each day. The top piece of paper has a label on it that says "I love my job." I smile as I remember the day I cleverly made that piece of plastic. It was one of two that I printed out at work. The first read "My name is Marcy." I stuck both to the bottom of my skirt and grinned as I showed both to a friend and said "Only one of these is true. Guess which."

This is all from a time when I was incredibly stressed and it was making me frazzled and unhappy. I only applied to one Graduate school because it was the only one I really wanted to attend. When I got the rejection letter, I started planning a new escape. I decided that I just needed to go. I wanted to become one of the characters that I had always admired, the one who needs a change and so they just pack their shit and leave. I decided that I would move out West. It was terrifying and I loved just the act of planning. I packed, sold, and donated everything that I could do without. I notified, networked, and prepared to say goodbye. And throughout the whole process, I found that I was breathing deeper than I had in months.

I planned a party with my partner in crime to say Goodbye to all our friends at once. One week before the departure date that we had been obsessing over for more than a year, we got as many people as possible together at one bar. I drank and cried and discussed my plans, feeling a familiar big grin spread across my face. It was the grin I always had when I spoke about my move to California and the road trip that we would take to get ourselves out there. I came home looking forward to getting into my pajamas and climbing into bed. I barely paid attention to the letter that was sitting in front of the door leading to the stairs up to my apartment.

One year after not getting into Emerson's MFA in Creative Writing program, they reconsidered me and my application. Always one to give in to an opportunity to display my flare for the dramatic, I half laughed and half cried while my friend read out loud to me the words in the acceptance letter. I calmed down enough to leave my parents a calm and stable voice mail. They were on the West Coast for a wedding so I knew they would still be awake. When they called back, I walked into my bathroom to answer the phone and let my friend sleep.

There, perched on my closed toilette with my feet on the edge of my tub at 2 am, I told my parents the news. I listened to my mother cry and my father's shocked Congratulations. My mind was not made up, I wasn't sure that I could afford this financially or that I was ready to give up on California yet. As my parents drove around California, their GPS constantly shouting out about missed turns, they talked me into changing my plans.

A little over an hour of talk and a hot shower later, I finally got into my pajamas and climbed into bed. Where I stared at the wall and thought. The next day, I was in charge of two small children. I am ashamed to say, I let them play Wii for hours and enjoy the Photo Booth on my lap top while I went back on to the Emerson website to try to imagine what fall would be like. I didn't want to tell people because I was still convinced it was a fluke. But when my best friend called and said "I know we haven't had a chance to talk in a while but I felt like I had to talk to you today" I took it as a sign to tell her everything.

I confirmed with the admissions office and sent in my enrollment fee. I changed my plans and settled in to the fact that I would spend the summer continuing my path of the last three years. But in the fall, I will go back to school. I so rarely talk about fate or destiny; I think these are thing we have to create on our own. But suddenly I am able to fill in the big blanks of my future that used to be hazy question marks. I know who and where I want to be in three years. Though, if this experience has taught me anything it's that you don't want to plan anything in advance too thoroughly. Or: plan, but be prepared for life to get in the way and do some scheming of its own.

I dont need Emerson to give me some self worth or tell me that I can write. I have always written and I never planned to stop. But now I have the means to make my life what I want it to be. I applied to Emerson on my own but apparently I was a just a bit too early. And the best part is, it makes for a really great story.

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