Half in the Bag

Tomorrow night, after I’ve completed my one open-book final and driven home from American University’s small campus in Washington, D.C., I’ll have done something I didn’t think I would end up accomplishing and more than once considered backing out of all together at certain times.

I will be done with my first semester of graduate school in pursuit of a journalism master’s.

In August, I entered this program uncertain and cautious about the “Boot Camp” month that awaited me. Being an average student at W.S.U for four years, I earnestly doubted my ability to meet the minimum standards of the coursework in front of me. Could I really manage to get B grades or higher? Thankfully I ended up being able to and made it through the rigorous month.

Come September, I started to doubt the usefulness of some of what I was doing. Although I won’t name the instructors or the class, I will say that being assigned to create a Wikipedia page in order to receive a grade is not a worthwhile use of time or school resources. If I could, I’d get my money back for this class. Never before have I met two people less engaged in teaching.

October brought me into the heavily promoted “Alumni Mentor Program” at AU. According to the emails I received, this system was heavily selective and of great value to those who found themselves invited into it. So far my mentor has proven to be nice, but at times I find that I don’t really know what to ask her about. I mean, there’s only so much I can ponder at any given time.

With November came Trump and with that surprise upset my dreams of immigrating to America legally probably died a bureaucratic death. I’d always wanted to take my talents to this nation and contribute to American society, but with immigration hardliners having the ear of the president-elect and many (But not all.) of my rightist friends telling me I haven’t earned the chance to stay in country, I’ll likely end up eking out a miserable existence up north somewhere. As I don’t speak French, there’s little chance for me to move up the ranks of Canadian media. It breaks my heart to be honest, but when most people don’t care what can I really even do?

And now, I am here in December. Writing this summation/personal perspective in the late night and wrestling once more with doubt about the future. Will I ever find the peace that I seek? Is there ever going to be a time in my life where I am not flitting from place to place all the time?

I suppose like with all things, we’ll just have to wait and see. But I’m not sold on the omens I’ve received so far.

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