Before I had even started college, I already knew I was going to get a master's degree. I wasn't sure when I would get it, what I would study, or where I would go, but the ambition itself was sure in my mind.
As I got into my bachelor's degree, I began to narrow my answers to those questions. I would teach for a couple of years so that when I transitioned into being a student again, I would have a more mature perspective to offer. I would go somewhere that aligned with my faith and values while still exposing me to alternative perspectives. And, as I decided the soul-sucking semester when I wanted to quit college because I was taking four education classes at the same time, I definitely would not get a master's in education.
But as the saying goes, life is under no obligation to give us what we expect. When it comes to my expectations for graduate education, I got two out of three: the where and the what. The when, however, has happened in a way I never anticipated. Instead of starting my master's degree a year or two from now, I should be finished with it by then. And since I wrapped up my first semester last weekend, I am now officially 25% of the way to accomplishing this goal.
As I had hoped, I learned a great deal about literary theory and graduate research in my first semester of grad school. But I also learned some important lessons about being a student.
Even though I had a successful college experience in that I graduated with good grades, college was pretty miserable for me. The closest thing I had to work/life balance was keeping a Pinterest tab open while writing papers. I got away with overworking myself, but I developed an unhealthy expectation of constant productivity, which I would then feel guilty for failing to meet.
The terrifying beauty of grad school, however, is that it has destroyed my ideal of nonstop work. As much as I wanted to stay a week ahead of schedule at all times while taking three classes during an eight-week term, it just wasn't possible. Between working 30+ hours a week, keeping the Hobbit Hole running, and maximizing the rare moments when both Mitchell and I are home and awake at the same time, I simply didn't have the time or energy to replicate the level of productivity I'd maintained during college. I still wanted to be excellent, of course; I just had to learn a different process for reaching that goal.
My first semester of grad school taught me that all I ought to expect of myself is to do the best I can with what I have. There's nothing particularly profound about that lesson; it seems like the sort of thing that ought to have been engrained in me years earlier. But I suppose it's one of those lessons you don't learn until you have to live it.
As human beings, we do not have infinite resources or infinite abilities. And while we do have the capacity for growth, we do not have the capacity for perfection. We can do only so much with what we have. I didn't have unlimited time to write over thirty total pages for the three term projects that were all due on the same day. I didn't have unlimited energy to revise ugly rough drafts after getting home from work. I didn't have unlimited access to my professors to ask every minor question that popped into my head as I worked.
But I did have enough time to write the papers. I did have enough energy to read through the drafts and make some changes. I did have access to my professors through email. So I took advantage of what resources were available to me to make my work as good as possible, and I gave myself permission for "as good as possible" to be good enough for me.
Being the idealistic perfectionist that I am, this lesson is one I'm sure I'll be relearning for the rest of my life. But this semester of grad school has helped me to realize that things don't have to be perfect in order to be good–both in school and in life itself.