I was emailing with my friend John about school stuff. The subject of getting into grad school came up, and the fact that I didn't get into the University of Michigan History Ph.D. program. Not only was I rejected, but they sent the letter so fast that they didn't have time to sign it.
It arrived without a signature.
Maybe 2 days after I'd applied.
But it wasn't really all that upsetting to me. At the time I was disappointed and probably drank a lot to cover it up. The monetary investment alone was significant. But truly, there wasn't - and isn't - much of my ego invested in the place from which I earn[ed] my diploma. It was about the education.
It got me thinking, though. Was I embarrassed about not getting in to Michigan? No, not really. It's more like I'm proud of it. It's a good story to tell, actually. It garners me a little bit of sympathy, it's funny, and everybody hates the big corporate university that can't even reject people in a nice way. And I wasn't a bad applicant, after all. I graduated from a decent (although certainly not outstanding) undergraduate institution with good grades (3.201), particularly in my major (History, 3.25) and minors (Political Science, 3.0, and Philosophy, 3.29). Thanks to the quarter system, I had taken a very wide variety of classes. My recommendations were outstanding - all of the professors from whom I'd requested them had offered me copies of what they gave to the schools, just so I knew what the schools were getting. I'd been out of undergrad for a couple of years, so I was slightly more mature (and therefore more appealing?) than my 20-year-old counterparts. My GRE scores were really good: Quantitative, 580; Verbal, 640; Analytical, 730. So why didn't they want me?
The point of this isn't really the getting in, or not getting in, to UM's Ph.D. program. It's really about my big, honkin' ego. Why do I still know or care what my GPA was from undergrad? Why do I have my GRE scores memorized? Why am I proud of these things that don't matter at all?
I think that it's important, and sensible, and understandable, and logical, to be proud of some things even if they involve a certain about of self-love or vanity. For instance, some of my friends can't say enough about the fact that I graduated from law school and passed the bar on my first try. (There used to be the inevitable John F. Kennedy, Jr. comparisons until he died; it must've been really sad for him to have had to deal with that constantly. I mean, there was so much more to him than that.) But I'm obviously not doing anything with my law degree right now, much less my license. It's just sitting there in my brain or my safe deposit box, respectively, gathering dust, wasting a hell of a lot of money (yes, I'm still paying the student loans). It was a waste of time. It was a waste of money. I'm not saying that the process wasn't valuable. I'm not saying that I didn't learn anything. I'm not saying, necessarily, that if I could go back knowing what I know now, that I wouldn't do it again. I sure as hell wouldn't take the same classes, and I wouldn't have fooled myself into thinking that I could convince LS [one of my profs, who turned out to be more evil than he originally appeared] that he was a human being and so should treat others as if they were. I learned a lot. But law school changed me in some very significant, very negative ways. I see potential liability everywhere. I find it hard to talk without using words like "mitigate" and "reprehensible" - I am not kidding, it changed my vocabulary drastically. It's not a part of me of which I feel particularly proud. If I was, I'd be an attorney. I'm not. I can't be without feeling like I've sold my soul. I have the legal education, and of that I can be grateful. My J.D. means more to me than my esq. ever could.
So when my friends ooh and aah about the Attorney Registration and Disciplinary Commission card in my wallet, what can I say? It's nothing. It really is nothing to me.
What am I proud of? Mostly things that I can never really tell anyone about, or that I could tell but no one would really "get". Like the scars on my left leg from going through the French doors at 106 Main St. Like taking the Big Wheel back. Like managing to never tell a soul about something that if I'd told, could've changed the lives of at least four people in a very real, very sad way.
I'm proud of S. B. calling me Ophelia even though I managed to get all the way through 4 years at WSU and who knows how many of his and Marianna's classes without ever actually reading Hamlet. [Note: This is not strictly true; I read it, but in a philosophy class, not in a History class.] Even though later I came to understand that being called Ophelia either meant he thought I was a suicidal freak or ... maybe he knew I hadn't read Hamlet. Hmmm.
I'm proud of my second ear piercing, even though it's so not edgy or trendy or anything, but it means something to me that I can't even explain to myself. All I know is that when I reach up to twist my earring backs and feel 2 of them on each ear, it's a tiny rush of joy.
I am, for some unknown godawful reason, proud of not having quit my job in a huff - yet. M!dt0wn Foods, I quit in a very bad way (although I was later hired back through odd circumstances). Kaplan Educational Center, I gave two weeks' notice but in a huff and not very productively. My current position makes me much more crazy (albeit at better pay) than either of those did, but I've managed to remain patient to this point. Saving it up for a big blowout? Biding my time? Or somehow connected to the reality of owing a whole lot of people and entities a whole lot of money? Doesn't matter, I suppose.
I'm proud of being friends, in any way that I can claim, with John (my philosopher). And Brian, although that "friendship" certainly is all over the board and can't be counted on. And Rob. And Steve S. (who is not the Steve in the band, thank you very much). And Jon and Mike, and Joe (and Jim). And Geoff, of course, even though I'm convinced that he thinks I'm insane. And Eric. And Ted, who got out while the getting was good. (But that reminds me how much I miss Dan and Dan and Chris, and Chris, too.) And Matt, even though he is too young and long-haired to have anything to do with old friends now. Maybe I see a lot of holes where the links to my past used to be, but there are a lot of amazing people there, too. It's humbling and I'm lucky.
With all this, why would I care about law school?
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