Old Tunnel, New Light
Nearly three years into what was supposed to be a two-semester degree, I had almost given up hope of ever finishing J-school.
The situation reminded me of that old mathematical principle about how you can never reach a fixed point if you travel only half the distance toward it with each step. You get closer and closer but won't ever actually make it.
Well, that's how I'd been feeling for quite some time—like I kept traversing great distances toward the goal of graduation but couldn't quite get there.
Of course, in the mathematical example, the rational thing to do is give up. Or just settle for getting tantalizingly close, and claim victory.
But neither option really worked for me. I'm stubborn (no, really?), and I find it very difficult not to finish what I've started. (I sometimes take this to ludicrous extremes.)
And it would be hard to claim success without an actual diploma to show for all of my very hard work. J-school, dear friends, is not for the faint of anything. At Columbia at least, it is a grueling experience.
Nonetheless, I had begun to reconcile myself to the likely reality that a degree would not be forthcoming soon, and possibly ever. What I had left to do to complete my requirements seemed insurmountable given the other demands of our lives right now, and I knew that the longer I went without graduating, the more powerful inertia would become.
I rationalized that I had already gotten nearly all the value I could possibly hope to get from the program, and that a piece of paper would not confer any more.
True, perhaps, but truer still is that the piece of paper would at the very least give me closure, something I've had precious little of these last few years.
And having that piece of paper would make my already mottled résumé a little easier to explain. I wouldn't have to use the dreaded "degree expected" phrase anymore, and I could stop revising the accompanying date every few months. (I went from anticipating a May 2006 diploma to hoping for one in May 2007, then October 2007, then February 2008. I've completed so many degree applications that I'm surprised I haven't triggered some kind of academic fraud alert.)
More than all of that, I just want to finish something that would be a tremendous accomplishment if done the normal way (that is, in 10 short months) and will be so much more than that after everything that has happened to us from the moment I decided to apply to the program 40 months ago.
And so it is with tremendous relief—and some degree of lingering disbelief—that I tell you that barring something ELSE unforeseen (fate, don't you dare mess with me again so soon), I will collect my degree in about 10 weeks.
I have some serious work to do between now and then, but what once was stubbornly out of sight is now very much within reach.
The situation reminded me of that old mathematical principle about how you can never reach a fixed point if you travel only half the distance toward it with each step. You get closer and closer but won't ever actually make it.
Well, that's how I'd been feeling for quite some time—like I kept traversing great distances toward the goal of graduation but couldn't quite get there.
Of course, in the mathematical example, the rational thing to do is give up. Or just settle for getting tantalizingly close, and claim victory.
But neither option really worked for me. I'm stubborn (no, really?), and I find it very difficult not to finish what I've started. (I sometimes take this to ludicrous extremes.)
And it would be hard to claim success without an actual diploma to show for all of my very hard work. J-school, dear friends, is not for the faint of anything. At Columbia at least, it is a grueling experience.
Nonetheless, I had begun to reconcile myself to the likely reality that a degree would not be forthcoming soon, and possibly ever. What I had left to do to complete my requirements seemed insurmountable given the other demands of our lives right now, and I knew that the longer I went without graduating, the more powerful inertia would become.
I rationalized that I had already gotten nearly all the value I could possibly hope to get from the program, and that a piece of paper would not confer any more.
True, perhaps, but truer still is that the piece of paper would at the very least give me closure, something I've had precious little of these last few years.
And having that piece of paper would make my already mottled résumé a little easier to explain. I wouldn't have to use the dreaded "degree expected" phrase anymore, and I could stop revising the accompanying date every few months. (I went from anticipating a May 2006 diploma to hoping for one in May 2007, then October 2007, then February 2008. I've completed so many degree applications that I'm surprised I haven't triggered some kind of academic fraud alert.)
More than all of that, I just want to finish something that would be a tremendous accomplishment if done the normal way (that is, in 10 short months) and will be so much more than that after everything that has happened to us from the moment I decided to apply to the program 40 months ago.
And so it is with tremendous relief—and some degree of lingering disbelief—that I tell you that barring something ELSE unforeseen (fate, don't you dare mess with me again so soon), I will collect my degree in about 10 weeks.
I have some serious work to do between now and then, but what once was stubbornly out of sight is now very much within reach.
posted by Jody Rosen Knower at 6:27 AM
2 Comments:
NICE Blog :)
Jody,
This is fantastic news, and I'm so proud of you! I'll be cheering you on as you cross this finish line as well.
Jill :))
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