NOTE: I found half of this, unpublished, on my old blog. I thought I’d spiff it up and share it here. I assume I started it around the time I finished grad school.
I’m going to be brutally honest here. Grad school kind of sucks. It’s hard, writing a thesis is a miserable experience and I didn’t look at a train for, well, days, after I finished school. I can’t help it; I love trains! My master’s thesis in anthropology examined the impact of the railroad on the small town of Sandpoint, Idaho between the years 1880 and 1935, looking at the archaeological records, archival material and additional sources. I am proud of my thesis; I poured two years of my life into that thing, AND I paid someone to let me write it. I got great experience in Collections Management and learned all about archaeology and the policies that govern the field.
But, while in grad school, I learned something unexpected.
I had always imagined myself as a curator of archaeological collections, also qualified to work in the field (because, let’s be honest, working in the field is exhausting, sweaty and amazingly fun). But while I was at school, I realized that I really missed the boats. And not just the freedom and amazing-ness of being part of the crew of a square-rigger, no. I really missed my job as the cat-herder and PR Ninja. In short, as the StewCo (or Education Coordinator/Steward, if you prefer).
This was a strange thing to learn, halfway through my final year at grad school for a different field.
I wanted to be an educator. I ignored the impulse for a while (I was in school still, and determined to graduate), but then I started making lesson plans in my head. I finally thought, maybe I should go back to school to get certified? And, this year, I have.
Also, in an effort to not lose all my hard work getting over heights, I tried climbing things. I quickly realized that if I didn’t have a clear purpose up there, even if I was properly and securely fastened, it was not going to happen. I would freeze up. My body literally would not move. I felt a strange sense of deja vu. I think it was because I didn’t have a job to do and I wasn’t even going to get to see a kick-ass view. Just the top of some plastic rocks and for no real reason.
So I realized that was all dumb, and I don’t climb things anymore. I assume that when I go back to the boats (someday, please, someday!), I’ll have to climb things again (but I hope that it’ll be less painful this time, because I know the benefits). I was pretty good at furling the mizzen, and I adored the headrig. It was just the yards that I hated.
That, in short, is the story of how I, Miss “I Never Want To Teach,” ended up back at school, working on getting her certification to teach middle-schoolers history and/or English.
I feel like my life is proof that God has a sense of humor. Not in a mean way, just that He chuckles at my antics quite a bit.