It’s hard to say when it was that I left UW-Superior. I guess it was probably some time early in my last semester. If you don’t believe me, you can look at my transcript. Like most seniors, chomping at the proverbial, graduation bit, my interest had been gone for a while before the actual graduation ceremony. Whether it was true or not, I felt like I had taken the most from my undergraduate teaching and needed to seek out something more.
I have always been a very dedicated student, but over a series of poor decisions by myself and faculty, I became largely disinfranchised with the idea of finishing my last semester. While I still remain personally attached to some of the faculty and staff, there was a lot that I needed to get away from in order to be happy with my future.
A large portion of what I left in Superior revolved around a very long and very painful relationship. It was one that I tried to solidify and ground but, instead and much too late, wound up destroying there. Most of the relatively small city carried some bad memories and it was time for me to move up and move on.
One professor, call him V (purely random letter), actually recommended the program in Tulsa to me in late November. He talked about the reputation that our school had with the advisor and how my performance as an undergrad would make me a possible competitor for a slot. Probably the most interesting thing about this suggestion professor was that he and I had a rather complicated past. During several occasions, in courses, the students ran into “issues” with the way things were proceeding. At the time, we got in to some very tense situations, but I realize that he was fantastically professional and understanding through each situation. Any lack of respect that I may or may not have had in the man has vanished over the years, and I can now say that he was one of the best people I’ve been able to work under as a student.
After a whirlwind, and somewhat last-minute, romance with the graduate program, I was accepted and I began preparing to leave. Friends and family were fairly pleased with my decision to start my graduate degree in Tulsa. But that is not to say they were pushing me out of the door with a stick, they were civil despite the opportunity to be rid of me. Some of my closer friends that I wound up with at the end of my college career were friends that I had made years before in high school and with whom I had renewed relationships. They had it worst of all as I’ve learned that my charm is much like an exploding star: certainly striking but you better not pay to close attention or you’ll blind yourself and gain lasting, nagging burns whose intensity depends on the exposure to the radiation. Despite all this, I confess that I will miss their support and friendly faces in the coming years (though we’ve continued phone conversations already).
We did much to part ways, and the move out process was slow and awkward. Still, by seeing them frequently and still knowing my exodus was emminent allowed us to sort of ease into the prospect of being apart. I am glad to say that it was not painful to leave, and it has not and will not be painful to be apart. To be honest…I think that without the leave, there would be a lot of fishbowl inertia keeping us all in place. It’s not exactly poetic, but it is nice to think that perhaps splitting up will give each of us enough fin room to make escape velocity and jump into the open air. Now it only remains to see if each of us will be able to survive out of the water.
Good thing this garbage is purely metaphor, and an obnoxiously contrived one at that. I like my neck without gills, and my life to be more than a monochromatic, two-dimensional etching of a three-year-old. On that note, I’ll wish myself luck and luck to my friends (Godspeed, SHRELM). In the words of a tragically misunderstood dogsledder but wonderful librarian, “Love you, miss you, bye.”
