Today was the first time since before graduation that I left my alma mater to drive home to Maryland without crying. I know it's stupid and irrational, but after spending four years living somewhere and developing a separate identity from the one you know at your parents' home--an identity in which you have friends instead of just coworkers, and you meet new people instead of greet customers--it's hard to leave.
Probably the most significant revelation of my trip was the reconsideration of applying for grad school. During my senior year, as graduation approached, I considered graduate school as a means of staying in school to avoid the real world. Now, after getting a taste of life outside of formal education, I realize that I would like to further my skills as a writer, and maybe even get a jump-start on a novel. So, this evening--though the night is still young--has marked the beginning of what is sure to be a long search to find universities that offer a Master of Fine Arts programs for Creative Writing. My choices are undoubtedly more limited because I would like to earn my MFA instead of MA, but I also realize that as my undergraduate major was geared toward the writing end of English, I would be more comfortable in a program that will allow me to so exactly what I've always wanted to do. I think a Master of Arts would lean to much toward the literary end of the spectrum, which wasn't really my greatest passion, to say the least.
I'm sure I'll have more to talk about after I do more research--and after my mother attempts to talk me out of it for financial reasons.
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