The Graduate Wavelength

Graduate school.
The process, the emotions, the decisions…and I’m still nowhere close to it. But it’s become my official plan and I won’t/can’t turn back. I finally say the words out loud now, like I actually mean them. When people ask me my plans after graduation, I smile, look them in the eye and say, “graduate school.”

 

I began researching schools back in September. Of the hundreds of programs and schools, I narrowed it down to four.

• West Chester University (in PA): Masters of Communication Studies
• University of North Dakota: Masters of Communications
• University of Wyoming: Masters of Journalism and Communication
• And Southern Utah University: Masters of Professional Communication

I loved all the schools and their programs for different reasons. I could picture myself in any one of those places. I was excited to go back to West Chester. I could picture the fur-lined hood on the coat I’d buy for the North Dakotan winters. I was fascinated by the idea of attending a cold, desert school whose mascot is “the cowboys.” And I figured I could force myself to stay at SUU if I really had to. SUU, though, was definitely at the bottom of the list…in my adult life I’ve never done anything for more than two years at a time and SUU’s two years will be up soon.

 

I took the GRE. I began filling out applications. I clicked, searched, navigated, Googled, emailed, called, contacted, faxed, and paid more than $300 in processing, application, and test fees. Oh, and I prayed my face off for help to figure out what my future held.

 

And then I looked at my present.

 

I've developed a theory that everyone’s life has a wavelength to it. Most of the time our lives flow along with little or no accents of variation; we like it that way. And then changes, challenges, and bumps in the road come along altering our wavelengths: sometimes temporarily, sometimes permanently.

 

Over the course of just a few months, I saw all of my family’s wavelengths in a new perspective. As my brother and his family have been looking for a house and moved in with my parents, we’ve seen multiple changes in wavelengths. As one aunt fights cancer and another is recovering from a hip replacement, their wavelengths change. My sister’s family sits on the edge of their seats hoping for little Jack’s eye problems to heal, yet their wavelength has been permanently changed in the meantime. And every time I see my grandparents…gosh, frankly I’m always amazed their wavelengths still function at all.

 

These changes are necessary for life. (Think of the Snowglobe theory.) The bumps are what make life interesting and they’re the experiences that help us grow. But as I looked around at all that’s going on in my family’s lives, I realized that I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to be 7 hours (Wyoming), 14 hours (North Dakota), or a plane-ride (West Chester) away from the people I love most. I don’t want to leave the people and places I depend on when more changes are always just around the bend. I want my wavelength to stay as constant as possible so when my support network is experiencing such life-changing events, I’m just a few hours away from hugging them all.

 

So I stopped the processes of applying to graduate programs.

 

I was confused. What I’d wanted for months and what I wanted right then were so opposite it made my heart spin. I didn’t think I had any more to gain from SUU; I don’t stay places for more than two years. I felt sure my tumbleweed heart was aching to go somewhere else. But no matter how I tried, I couldn’t wrap my spirit around that idea.

 

So I returned to the process.

 

And finished only one application.

 

And I felt comfort.
Comfort and joy and excitement at the idea of attending Southern Utah University for two more years.

 

I remember clearly a snowy day in December 2009. I was walking to school through the slush and ice placing each foot carefully and cautiously as I waded downhill to my first class. And the thought came: Next year at this time—as in 12 months from now—you’ll be doing this exact same thing, in this exact same place.

 

Many would find comfort in such a thought. But I abhorred it. I detested the idea that my life was going to be that constant, that steady, that unchanging. I spent the rest of the day in a soggy depression.

 

Times certainly change, don’t they.

 

I hope I’ll always remember today clearly. It’s a sunny day in March 2011. I sit in at a computer station in the library, taking a break from studying to blog so I can stay awake. And the thought came: Next year at this time—as in 12 months from now—you’ll be doing this exact same thing, in this exact same place.

 

And this time I find comfort in the thought. I embrace the idea that—at least for the next little while—my life (and my wavelength) will be that constant, that steady, and that unchanging. I’ll spend the rest of today in a sunny realm of peace.

 

And I’ll carry on...

...to SUU's graduate program.