Happy Mother’s Day to all!

I had a flutter, I got cold feet. My last post expressed my thoughts about my plan to get my Master of Fine Arts in Creative Nonfiction; it was an audacious plan. It was outrageous. To commit to a project like a MFA, both money and time! And why?

This whole project was about my desire to change my future. It was a pipe dream, delusional. Thinking about my future, at my age? It was ridiculously optimistic.

I allowed myself to hesitate. I could, in fact, choose not to attend, even after my acceptance. I could avoid the actual costs and likely stress, float along as I do, making my own art, making a buck. I would be fine, all would be fine. I could do this project by myself. I put a a halt to all of my machinations, the letters of referral, the proposal. And I did back out.

But then I was very sad for about three days. The loved ones noticed. I noticed. I felt a return of a familiar emotion, something that I had been feeling for the last few years. A forlorn powerlessness, A lack of spirit. No future dreams, no excitement, no change or challenge. And, it was undeniable that my plans to make it on my own were familiar, I have been doing this my whole life.

My writing can convince me of different outcomes. I can be persuasive! But my earlier proposal, the one that convinced King’s College, came back to my mind as well. And I thought about how I needed this challenge to feel truly alive, and even young at heart.

I am back, I reversed my reversal, and I am back. For the last few months I have woken every day with the impulse to drop out again. And then I have a talk with myself and we all agree that the one thing I cannot do is back out because of feelings of inadequacy. It is just unacceptable.

If I was parenting myself I would emphasize that fear of the unknown is no reason to step back. And feelings of inadequacy are conjured out of nothing, based on no real data. It is acceptable to decide against a project for sensible reasons, but never because you feel you are not good enough.

The date draws closer for the nine day intensive residency. We are all gathering in Halifax for a series of workshops, lectures and events. I have a room rented and I have sent in my biography and proposal, and read all the bios and ideas of the other students.

What a collection! I feel a bit abashed by my free and easy bio, my casual life of fun and merriment. But I am excited to meet all these people and hear their stories.

There’s veterans, crime fiction writers, journalists, lawyers, doctors, and an engineer who drove across Mongolia. People want to write about history, family, illness, healing, psychology, history, cooking and sexuality.

I feel blessed to have this opportunity. I am joining in as I always do, for every new challenge, with a smile. I have confidence in my abilities as a student and a writer and I am unmoved by my faults and foibles.

In taking on this challenge, I am entering the lion’s den of my insecurities and facing them. There is nothing to lose and so much to gain. I loved being a student, I love writing and I am ready to meet my new friends and colleagues.