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Three ways I intend to not fail grad school.

This is my “grad school equivalent of
senioritis” face. (Or a picture I accidentally
took with my phone the other day. Either way.)
The start of the spring semester last month marked the beginning of the end.
The end of grad school, assuming I pass comps so I can walk in May. 
I walked into class on Jan. 8, naturally overcome by the deep-seated confidence that I would fail comps in March as a direct result of the existence of the Lifetime Movie Network.

(Don’t judge me.)
I’ve been tired for awhile. Dreaming of the time to read for leisure, and write a lot more than I write, and partake in communication not mediated by computers. So by the time the spring semester rolled up, I was – to quote what I am fairly certain I recently said to my adviser’s face – “OVER IT.”
But the grad school equivalent of senioritis plus a slightly-more-than-mild case of test anxiety does not equal graduation in May. It equals the Lifetime Movie Network (who knew?).
So as of late, I have had to force myself to resist the TV and grab grad school by the horns for the final time. In the process, I have concluded there are three ways I intend to not fail grad school. And they are these:
1. By gratefully accepting the grace of God. Because frankly, it is ultimately by His grace that a young woman for whom it comes far more naturally to procrastinate than not has not already flunked.
2. By buying people lunch if they agree to quiz me. Attention local friends: Expect an invitation. I’ll buy your food and I’ll bring the flash cards. Boom. (Bonus: It’ll be like grad school for you, but faster. And free. And there’s food.)
3. By using the Pomodoro Technique. I would like to take this opportunity to publicly thank my friend and fellow blogger Edmund Mitchell for casually mentioning the Pomodoro Technique via Google Talk chat last month, because it is changing my life. I’ll sum it up like this: Set a timer! Work for 25 minutes, break for 5. Badabing, badaboom.
And great news:
The grace of God plus flash cards plus the Pomodoro Technique does not equal the Lifetime Movie Network.
Lord willing, it equals graduation.
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Three big deals.

Probably more than a year ago, I barged into my adviser’s office at the University of South Florida, where I am working on my master’s in rehab and mental health counseling. I dropped my book bag on the floor, stood in front of his desk, and said the following:

“I need you to help me.”

“With what?” he asked.

“I need you to help me drag this out.”

“Drag what out?”

“Grad school!”

He cracked up.

“IT ISN’T FUNNY,” I said (albeit while I laughed, too). “I’M SERIOUS.”

We laughed because grad students do not traditionally ask how they can spend as much time in school as possible. Grad students traditionally ask how they can spend as little time as possible.

But grad students aren’t traditionally afraid to graduate. Probably more than a year ago, I was.

I worried then that I might have to quit my job at the paper in order to graduate (and eventually, I did).

That I’d run out of time to study for comps, the exam that covers all the required courses I have taken in my 60 credit program (and I kind of am).

But I am happy to report the following:

Despite that I had to quit my job at the Times, and despite that I am running out of time to study for comps, I am now super stoked to graduate.

This is because I am tired. And I miss being able to watch some TV without regretting it. And socializing. And not setting my alarm on weekends. And responding to emails in a timely manner. And eating dinner at dinner time instead of before class (too early) or after class (too late).

It’s because I’m excited for what comes next. And for being able to sign my name with an “MA” after it.

Which is why it was very exciting this week, when I a) applied for graduation, b) registered for the commencement ceremony, and c) registered for comps.

These are three big deals.

These are points in my program I once didn’t want to reach, points I eventually couldn’t wait to reach. Finally, I have reached them.

And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t pumped.

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Why parents are important.

I write tonight with tight lungs and tired eyes.

I am a month into the four and a week that make up the fall semester. Part of it is my second counseling practicum. For that, I work at a residential facility for minors who are ordered to be there by a judge, for instance, or are in foster care but between placements, or have run away from home or have been kicked out by their parents.
Despite my flaring asthma and the go-go-going from which there is rarely a break, I like this. 
I like this a lot.
This work requires creativity. It tries your patience, and (hopefully) refines it. It widens your comfort zone and your perspective.
Some days you laugh. Other days you lock yourself in your office. Other days, you shoot hoops like an 11-year-old, with an 11-year-old, during a counseling session.
Every day you’re grateful.
Grateful for home, and good parents.
Every day you’re challenged.
Challenged to listen to young people who’ve mostly never been heard. To stay calm during crises. To model the behaviors and coping skills the center hopes kids will learn before they leave.
You realize why parents are important.
Why good parenting is important.
Why what I do now – while I’m single and have no kids – is as important as what I’ll do when I’m married with children.

“Who we are and how we engage with the world are much stronger predictors of how our children will do than what we know about parenting.
If we want to teach our chilldren to dare greatly in this ‘never enough’ culture, the question isn’t so much ‘Are you parenting the right way?’ as it is: ‘Are you the adult that you want your child to grow up to be?’ -Brene Brown, from her book Daring Greatly

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The beginning of the end.

It is in pajamas and on the couch that I ignore the TV and focus for once on what is about to begin:

The end.

I am now three classes and one comprehensive exam from finished with my master’s degree in rehabilitation and mental health counseling. Monday marks the start of my second-to-last semester of grad school (if all goes as planned).

It also marks the start of my second counseling practicum.

Of being new, and learning how to counsel troubled children and adolescents, one on one and in groups.

Of 46 hour work weeks (the practicum plus the paper).

Of reasons to be in three separate cities three days a week, and two separate cities two days a week, and four cities total.

Of a minimum of 300 miles, or seven hours and 45 minutes, in the car each week.

Of being in bed by 10 and awake by 6, and of not hitting the snooze. Which is probably what I’ll mourn most. The loss of the snooze button.

The truth about all this is none of it will be easy. But the point is how it goes depends on my perspective. I can wake up Monday expecting to be kicked in the pants by the semester, or I could wake up Monday expecting to kick this semester in the pants. I could call this semester impossible, or I could call it difficult.

I could call it torture (big stretch), or temporary (truth).

I could pout since it’s the end of summer break, or I could smile, since it’s the beginning of the home stretch – the beginning of the end of schedules like this one.

Until I get my PhD.

😉

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Three things.

There are now only three courses, two semesters and one comprehensive exam until I’ll graduate with my master’s degree in rehabilitation and mental health counseling.


‘Cause, one, I finished my summer semester with a final exam on Tuesday. 


Which means two, I am free from school for the rest of the summer.


And three, this is how I feel about it: