Journey by Journey

Subtitle: "Don't Stop Believin.'"

Man, I love Glee. I love the music and the silliness and everything.

Most of all, I love how passionate these characters are. How much they believe in the power of what they do. The power of singing, the idea that many voices together can change the world. It makes me feel sad and kind of lost to watch their beautiful, brilliant faith.

I stopped believing in the power of a voice.

Once upon a time, I was accepted to a PhD program. I'm not saying which one (although if you know me, you probably know which one) -- let's just say it's big and mighty and impressive.

And then, I won a scholarship to cover a year's tuition.

And I didn't go.

Going to this school would have meant an insane amount of loans, as they didn't accept my master's degree and could offer no funding other than the scholarship. So I was going to go for six - seven years. And then graduate and go find a job.

Let's talk about my pal Jess for a minute. Jess lives in the same town as me. Jess holds a doctorate. Jess has been unable to find work in her discipline for almost as long as I have lived in this frozen wasteland. Additionally, nobody else wants to hire her -- not to clean houses, not to answer phones, not to work a cash register.

So I probably wouldn't graduate and find a job. No, I would be unemployed and sitting on $250,000 (oh yeah, that's my calculation) worth of student debt. And I would be unemployable just about everywhere else. That was one of my rationalizations.

Rationalization #2: My dad is dying. My mom's a little off her rocker. My grandma's a feisty 85-year old lady, but she can't live forever. They all live in the Southeast, and I want to be able to spend time with them while I can.

So, I rationalized. It was until I was talking with a friend fully 2 years after I resigned from school that I finally admitted that I hadn't gone. I hadn't been able to tell my mentors, because I felt so badly about it. And my friend, who is a wise and good friend, told me that it wasn't the right fit. Which it wasn't, and which I'm coming to terms with.

This blog post, however, is not about th path not taken.

This is about disillusionment and self-worth.

When I was at university, I had Work. No, that's not a typo. I know it's pretentious, but it's how I saw it in my mind's eye. I believed in my Work -- single-mindedly, purposefully. While attempting to continue my Work at this Big Midwest University (BMU, henceforth) I was continually shut down. Classes that would continue the Work were not allowed. Classes that had nothing to do with it were encouraged (and, mind you, I love learning for learning's sake, but not for a quarter of a million dollars and not when I have ALREADY STUDIED THE PELOPONNESIAN WARS. In the original Latin, natch.)

I know this really supports my pal's claim that this program wasn't right for me -- and it's not -- but the denial of my work (I can't keep doing the capital W -- I'm starting to hate myself) was really disheartening. And so, when I didn't go to BMU, I was already feeling poorly -- because what I wanted and needed to do was being marginalized by the machine.

I didn't go get my doctorate, and I couldn't admit it to the women who so encouraged me. I wouldn't have been able to understand it myself -- you got in, why didn't you go? I couldn't really pull myself out of this spiral. I begged anyone and everyone I trusted to make the decision for me. In the end, I had to say no myself and deal with the consequences, far-reaching as they are.

I thought I had healed by the time I was working again. And teaching again. And then I realized last week how bad it all was.

I was watching This Week With Christiane Amanpour, and her panel was discussing the mosque in NYC. While watching it, I discerned that each side is so caught up in anger and righteousness that they now fight only to win. Not to do the right thing, or to educate others, but to be the victor in this fight.

And I didn't care.

I didn't realize how incredible it was that I didn't care -- this would ordinarily, be a key piece in my work -- but lately I've been reconsidering a doctoral program again.

It was immediately distasteful, yet compelling. So much of my own self-image was of myself as a scholar, and I wanted to take up those reins again. But also, I didn't -- because I don't know if I'll survive that kind of heartbreak again. People may hurt you -- everybody acknowledges that. But to damage yourself, even for the right reasons, is a hurt one really cannot prepare for.

I had finally admitted to my mentors that I didn't go to BMU. One of them gently told me to get back on the educational horse. I think she's right, but first I have to recover what it was that I killed two years ago, when I stopped reading literature in my subject, or any literature of protest or self-actualization. I haven't seen a film on my subject in over two years. I don't even listen to my language cds for brush-up. Why?

Because I stopped believing in the power of words to change the world. And that, my friends, is what I could not forgive myself for. But lately, I'm beginning to believe again. And that is precious and hopeful.

Oh, and mosque-debaters? Stop fighting to win and fight for what's right.