Gramily (Grad Family)

When I think of graduate school, I always think of my life map. I must confess that I often laugh at my life map- mainly because I don’t think it is a typical one. If you gave a three-year-old a map and box of crayons and let him go to town- that’s what my life map would look like. A few crazy turns, lots of loops, plenty of crossover, and loads of overlap. Nonetheless, I am proud of my life map. It’s covered with a variety of lines, all different shades and shapes. I’ve never been afraid to take a sharp right, follow the hairpin turn, or go down the road less traveled (which, by the way, is the road I’ve paved myself). And when I look at my life map, I always see friends drawn in the various pathways and intersections.

These lines remind me of what I’ve been told throughout my life- if you can count the number of true friends one more than one hand, you’re either really lucky or really stupid. I’m really lucky.

I’ve gained knowledge through lectures, articles, discussions, videos, and conferences throughout grad school and I can tell you, the most solidified realization has been that your cohort becomes a family you didn’t choose but, rather, is linked forever to your life through fate.

Few people will understand the difficult T.A., the late night study session coupled with an early morning class, the unmanageable amount of work, and the disappointment in what sometimes just is.

Fewer people will understand the excitement of securing an internship, the inspiration of a thoughtful lecture, the triumph of a final presentation, or the hours in a coffee shop broken by the smiles and chatter of friends.

These people? They will go to Hell and back with you and will do it with smiles, laughs, and the windows down the entire time. These are your graduate school friends. The ones who- when you are so tightly wrapped in the possibility of a perceived personal failure- can unwind you. The ones who understand that your lows are temporary and your highs are solidly representative of whom you truly are. The ones who will always tell you it will work out and who are always right.

I think that we often associate a thick black line with something negative, something finished, something forever removed. But thick black lines aren’t always ugly. On my life map, they are the ones that connect us; the ones that can’t be erased, covered up, or broken; the roads that bind us to each other for life. So, as I navigate graduate school, the three-year-old in charge of my life map has a thick black crayon and is scribbling away…and never has that thick black line looked so good.

Becoming a Student Again

Sometimes, as contrary as it may sound, you have to let go of what you love.   Sometimes it’s the only way to grow.  Sometimes it’s the only way to know.  Sometimes it’s the only way.  Sometimes, it just is.  

My first love is teaching.  I will never be able to articulate how important my students are to me.  One of my favorite aspects after graduating college has been my students.  I’ve been surrounded by outstanding friends, experiences, travels, and family, and my students have always made me laugh, think, appreciate, reflect, stay young, look back, look ahead, and live life.  You can easily look at any child and know that the entire world lies ahead of him or her. It reminds you that the entire world lies ahead of you as well, regardless of age.

With the world ahead of me, I started chasing my second love, public health.  As many of you know, I went to Kenya and had the experience of a lifetime. I ended up teaching Women’s Health and it led me down a path that did not have the option of turning back.  Last summer, I took the GRE and got into the number fifteen school in the nation for public health, the University of Illinois at Chicago.  The acceptance letter was bittersweet.  In the blink of an eye, the hours of studying, the nerve-wracking testing, and the tedious amount of time spent on the application had all joyously paid off.  The electric shock of happiness cooled quickly as I realized acceptance of this lifestyle meant leaving behind my current one.  The decision ping-ponged in my mind for months.  Could I leave something I loved so much?  What if I was making a mistake?  Would I regret leaving?  Would I regret staying?  Which did I love more?  Could I love both equally?  I was plagued by questions with no answers, and those are the worst questions that exist.  But, alas, I came to a realization.

The hardest choices aren’t the ones where you don’t know if the move you’re making is the ‘right’ one.  The hardest choices are the ones where you are leaving one love for another, so both choices are the ‘right’ one.  Just as some of us have left a lover to chase a possibility, put miles between friends to capture a wish, and have parted from family to tackle a dream, I am leaving teaching to chase, capture, and tackle a possibility... a wish... a dream.  So, with a heavy heart, I bid farewell to my first love, teaching, to pursue my other first love, public health.  Cheers, District 204.  It’s been a beautiful ride and an even more beautiful journey.