How Did I End Up Here?

It’s hard to believe, but this month marks ten years since I graduated with my PhD in English. I never thought, while I was in thick of things, that I would get my PhD, specifically because it took me years to get into a program. I’ve been thinking about that journey a lot over the past few weeks, spurred on by a question from someone on Twitter about whether or not I (in the collective sense) donate to my alma mater and why or why not. That question, and the conversation I had with the person who asked it, really got me thinking more extensively about my educational path. I’ve thought about my journey before, but reflecting on it in relation to my interlocutor’s question really made me think about different aspects of my educational odyssey.

I’m a first generation college student, and I started my undergraduate program way back in 1996. Looking back, I really don’t even know how I ended up in college. I wanted to, as so many others did during that period, major in marine biology to study sharks. So, how did I end up at a land-locked university in North Louisiana? Really, I don’t know. It was close to home, only about ninety minutes away, and it was what I was supposed to do, go to college and get a degree. I wasn’t ready for college. I arrived with a friend, and that friend, after the first semester, dropped out. I remained. Reflecting on that period from a close to thirty year distance, I’m surprised…