I’ve criminally neglected this blog.
Since I last wrote, I’ve worked as a college adviser with a state college access program in a rural Missouri town. It’s been a real trip! I’ve lived in Missouri my whole life, yet I’ve always been quite insulated from the rest of the state; the town I grew up and went to college in is mid-sized, liberal city with lots of art and culture. Rural Missouri is quite a different experience, but it is not without it’s joys.
I’m here another year, then it’s a sharp drop off the cliff of my future. I’m entirely unsure what I will do with myself afterwards. I have grand plans of applying for the Master’s of Public Administration at the University of Washington, but residency takes a year. I’m also looking at the Master’s of Education in Educational Policy at the same school. Other options include applying to college admission rep jobs, The Food Corps, Southern Poverty Law Center, looking for a Planned Parenthood position, and a sundry of Americorps positions. I could travel and WWOOF to earn my way. What may end up happening is that I pack up my stuff, Carl, and Nate, and set my sights on some new horizon, without any solid plans. What frightens me is that there are so may options; I feel like Sylvia Plath with the fig tree.
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”