Moving On

I recently emailed the English Department chair at UAF to ask again about my status, since they've been delaying like mad in getting back to me. He gave me the news that I will most likely not be accepted, since the majority of the MFA admissions committee agreed against recommending me for acceptance. The final decision lies with the dean, but since most of the committee turned me down, my chances are pretty much shot. However, he was kind enough to mention that this year's pool of applicants was particularly competitive, and that they had to turn down a lot of qualified candidates (however he failed to mention whether they deemed me one of those 'qualified' candidates--not that it really matters).

This news hurts a lot, seeing as how a lot of my time lately has been spent daydreaming about Alaska and stuff like that. But I always knew, in my head, that the odds against me were tremendous. I knew the chances of me getting in were slim to none. But my head has no control over my heart, and my heart decided to hope. The feeling when I got the news was kind of like how in some movies when, confronted face to face with the bad guy wielding a knife, a good guy knows in his head that he's going to die but he probably hopes his would-be killer would change his mind. This didn't sneak up on me and slit my throat from behind: it's been standing in front of me the whole time, holding the knife, telling me that it may or may not kill me. And now the knife has been thrust, and it struck home.

Yes, I'm incredibly upset. But I'm no starry-eyed fool. Since my head knew so well what would most likely happen, it gave thought to some contingency plans. Fortunately, I'll be able to return to my old summer job at Chautauqua, so I have something of a buffer before needing to get a more secure job. I don't know what will happen after the summer is over. I imagine myself in my own apartment somewhere in western PA (hopefully Pittsburgh), working as a copyeditor or somesuch for a newspaper or magazine. But, we all know how my imaginings tend to turn out, so it's best to ignore that vision. All I can hope for is that I'll have some sort of substantial income to allow me to pay my debts and also live, simultaneously (a tough feat for the modern college graduate, I know). 

The thing is, I really wanted to go to Alaska. I've always wanted to go to Alaska. As a nature-loving, sensitive, spiritual, adventurous, outgoing person, Alaska has always had a strange hold over my thoughts. Part of it is just because it's so alien from what I'm used to.  I love expanding my horizons, and "different" places have always drawn me in. I think every type of location has some sort of intrinsic beauty: cities and wilderness, deserts and glaciers, etc. Part of that stems from my spiritual beliefs, that God  created all of it and so all of it reflects his divine nature somehow, the ultimate reality of which lies beyond our feeble brains, but is still edifying to ponder. The faces of a crowd inching down the streets of New York; a Navajo hunter stopping to watch the sun rise over the desert; wind bending pine branches in a summer storm; all of these things and more hold spiritual and aesthetic significance to me, and I want to experience as wide an array of experiences as possible before I die. I was hoping to add to that list watching ice fog settle over the spruces, experiencing first-hand the Iditarod race and Fairbanks ice festival, writing stories in my apartment or cabin and discussing them with other like-minded artists at UAF.

But don't get me wrong, I never thought this would be easy, or even fun all the time.  I knew going to Alaska would be a challenge, possibly the most challenging thing I'd ever done. Moving around 3500 miles away from everyone and everything I've ever known, getting accustomed to the strange and extreme weather patterns, and establishing friends and connections on my own? That all sounds really hard! But that's exactly why I wanted to go. I want a challenge. I don't want the easy and familiar. If I did, I could've applied to safe, traditional places like Penn State or something. But that's not what I want for my life.

Yes I'm upset, but I'm not giving up.  I have chosen to go to grad school for an MFA so I can become a better writer and also be able to teach writing at the college level, which is something I really am passionate about. I know I could go somewhere else to get this MFA, and I know wherever I'd go I'd have fun and grow as a person.  But Alaska is the place I choose to be, and so I will reapply next year and hope they accept me. I know that it's not because I'm unqualified or something; it's just really competitive, and, I believe, it really comes down to luck.  Perhaps I'll retake the GRE and try for higher scores. I'll definitely work on writing samples and my resume.  And in the meantime, I'll attempt to obtain employment where I can use my writing skills and continue developing as a writer. And I will continue writing creatively and attempting to get published. I won't let my life stop because of one let down.

Also, as a Christian, I have to sit down and reflect on why God might not be allowing me to go to Fairbanks yet.  Perhaps I'm not ready, emotionally or socially, for that kind of move. Perhaps if I did go this year, I'd break down, or get really sick and not know what to do or who to talk to or where to go. Maybe I'd end up getting really bad grades and losing my TAship or something and then be in a whole mess of financial trouble. Or maybe He has something for me after college that will end up being even more beneficial and edifying than grad school. Maybe I could pursue my ideas of the Peace Corps, or at least gain more life experience simply by living more on my own and doing all the things graduated people do. I don't know, I can only hope, and trust.

Also, I need to look at the positives.  If I stay in the area for a while, I can still visit my friends who are still in school, and I can reconnect with old friends who still live at home but whom I parted ways with when I left for college. I could get more involved in local arts and culture by joining the community writer's guild, and I could be more involved in my church. Some friends from home are talking about trying to open an art studio, for painters, musicians and writers to get their supplies from and such.  Maybe I could help with that.  There's always something to do, something new to experience, no matter where I am, and I can take those things into myself and become more fully myself and continuously gain writing material from the real world. I've just got to stay positive.

I'm not giving up on myself or my dreams. I will keep living and not dwell on things. I will try to get into UAF again next year. I will keep writing. I will keep exercising and taking care of myself. I've inherited most of the traits from my mom's side of the family, which is a generally brooding family full of troubled artists struggling with depression, apathy and addiction.  When things don't go the way I want, or when bad things happen to me, my first instinct is to stop my personal timeline and basically wallow in fruitless misery like some kind of disgusting old pig whose legs are so weak that it can't even crawl out of the filth it's drowning in.  Well, I'm going to fight that and continue with life.  Keep writing, keep living, loving, breathing, and everything will be okay. Moving on!