One of my friends from grad school just moved here from Boston. Last night we went out for drinks…I had not seen her for nearly a year. We each caught up on what the other was up to, people we both knew from school and … then we both said something to the effect of “Did grad school actually happen?”
Neither of us feels like it did. Of course, we’ve come away knowing people we didn’t know before, but in terms of actually attending classes for two years… it all feels very, very far away, kind of like a dream. Weird.
Also weird: The fact that many, many of the people we studied with went right back to what they were doing before grad school, me included. I’m not sure what this says about our school, or getting a masters in writing/publishing, or about us as people, but it’s interesting that just as I was always telling those curious friends and relatives who asked, it turned out to be true … My MFA was a pause, a chance to do something for me that I’d always wanted to do. Now, looking back on it, “pause” seems less the correct word than “blip.” My MFA was a blip. Blink, it’s over. Time to get back to work.