This post is a response post to a post I posted a several months ago. In order to follow along and at least attempt to understand what I’m about to say, you might glance at it. Who knows, it may not do any of us any good because half the time I confuse even myself. But, here it goes:
About a year ago I made the decision to reapply to MFA programs. If you were reading my blog way back when, you probably followed me along that journey. And you may or may not remember how apathetic I was when I received all those rejections. (Yes, I honestly didn’t care.) I wasn’t ready then. But, a year ago, I had the privilege of attending a reading through the Kellogg Writer’s Series and after had a few drinks with friends and the reader. Though that conversation that night, I decided I was finally ready. However, it was too late to apply then. I spent all last summer researching and gather information about programs; eventually narrowing down my choices to four schools. However, when it finally came time to apply in December I grew apprehensive–told myself, “what is the point?” You see, even early in the process I convinced myself that there was no reason to apply because I simply do not write well enough.
The truth is, I’ve been planning this post for a long time. Only, in my head it was going to be different. Rather than share this experience with you, my readers, I was going to give you my poetry. I was going to, in a series of posts, reveal to you what I used as a portfolio. The stanzas. Line breaks. Sentence fragments. The prose poetry that no one has really read and I’ve never really workshopped. This post, was going to be my final answer to the question, “can I do it.”
That was over a month ago, though. Today, this post is not what it was going to be. This post, rather than share my poetry, is me sharing my news. My hope and my fear. You see, I didn’t receive those rejections I kept expecting. Rather, I’ve received 3 acceptances so far. I don’t say this to brag, but rather to share. I don’t say this to say my dreams are complete, but rather that my dreams are on their way to being realized. I say this because, now, I’m scared. Terrified. Excited. Full of hope. Full of…this undefinable feeling. Overwhelmed because rather than being rejected, I face a decision I never thought I’d have to face. I’m not prepared to make it and I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do.
I guess the point to all my rambling and to tie into that response of “what do you do when you realize your dreams” is this: dreams never really end. I guess I’ve kinda always known that. Even when I should have given up hope for certain things in the past that I just haven’t. Maybe it is the little kid me. The hope in me. But, getting into school wasn’t my dream. The dream starts there and I’m excited to see where it takes me.