This is my first blog. I am not afraid to admit that it all feels a little foreign to me. It seems like a diary that other people can read, judge and comment upon. In that sense, it is not at all different to the diary I kept as a girl where my mom and friends would read it at their whim when they came across it in the ever secret hiding spot. You know, between the mattress and box spring.
Then I wrote about cute boys, classroom bullies and the time when I wrote on the bathroom wall at my Aunt’s house with crayon so my baby cousin would get in trouble. This malicious plot inevitably backfired as it was me who ended up in trouble after my diary was found and read like the National Inquirer. At eight I didn’t know I was entitled to legal representation so I eventually caved and admitted to my misdeeds. This whole self-induced trauma caused me to swear off diaries.
Until now apparently. Now in the new age where we call these diaries “blogs”. Crazy.
While I would like to be a writer, I am not. I am a lazy doodler who relies on spell check. My grammar is sketchy and I have to use Google every time I want to use the word “effect”. Or is it affect…
So get ready to judge.
I am 37 years old and I just started my Graduate degree. I have earned my bachelors degree at the geriatric age of 34. That was a wild ride. Though, of all of my personal achievements, this was the one that was single-handedly the greatest. It was at times, awkward, challenging, and financially strenuous but it was mostly exhilarating and exciting.
And that ladies and gentleman is why I went back for more. But, I forgot some things. I forgot what it was like to feel like chaperone in a group of my classmates. I forgot about the feelings of inadequacy. I did not however forget the delicious taste of the sweet accomplishment earning my degree. That is what I have to remind myself of daily.
This road, just like every other one in my life, has ups and downs. That’s what I am here to write about. I just started this journey and who knows where it will lead me.
Knowing myself as I do, I fully expect that I will say or retell an actual experience that will be just as stupid as writing on a bathroom wall hoping someone else will take the fall for it. It is kind of scary putting my experiences out in the open. I may regret some or all of it, but I have a feeling I won’t end up grounded at the end of it. Considering that, it makes this process a bit less intimidating.