Personal Lessons.

So yesterday I found out that I didn't get a spot in the MFA program at the U for next fall. I was surprised and not so surprised, but it doesn't change how badly it feels to be disappointed. I've been thinking about what this experience has meant to me, how its affected me and therefore what I've learned. This seems like one of those things I should be blogging about. I'm still a little raw, but even just one day has given me new perspective.

Well, I guess the first thing is to understand how this got started in the first place. Last summer I had a moment of clarity that revealed to me how much I missed being in a community of writers/learners. And I got motivated (and maybe more importantly) - I got organized. I applied to take two classes in the MFA (Master of Fine Art) program at the U of M and was sort of shocked when I got in (this acceptance was only to take the classes - I had to give a transcript, a personal statement and a writing sample). I completed both class with James's support and got As. At the end of that process I applied to the full MFA program (the acceptance rate is less than 1%). They took 4 people in nonfiction this year (hundreds of applicants).

So I've been waiting to hear since the end of December and yesterday I finally got the letter. It was short and to the point and I cried. The whole time I was crying, I was thinking "I know what real sadness is - I've been though much worse things- THIS is not that bad." And yet, I cannot pretend that this rejection didn't cause me real grief.

Seamus, you asked me why I was crying and I told you that I didn't get into my school, and you tried to be comforting (which was actually very comforting). We went to mass and to Grandma and Grandpa's house and I was still sad and a little weepy. I'm 33 years old and my parents are still parenting me. My dad held me in a really long hug and my mom made us all food. No one really understands your disappointment and suffering like your parents, I suppose because you are forever a part of them and vice versa. My dad said, "You know the U of M is a fabulous place, really an amazing school. But even really great places make mistakes." And it was about the nicest thing a dad could say.

I'm realizing that its been so long (I can't even remember an example) of when I had taken a risk, really put my hope on the line. Risk has a unique definition for everybody. I was not fearful of having kids - so welcoming the three of you into our lives was never a scary thing for me (for a lot of people, I think this is the single most frightening thing they ever do). Staying home full time did not cause me huge personal conflict either - things happened naturally and so these were relatively simple decisions. I think many adults spend most of their lives trying to avoid taking personal risks, in fact I think people often will avoid risk taking at almost any cost. I'm not sure that this is true - but it feels true to my experience. Its not comfortable to stretch. It's scary. Sometimes its paralyzing.

As a child, I remember being pretty fearless, pretty magnanimous. But at some point we worry about being embarrassed, about feeling let down, about not being good enough. I suppose its an impossible goal, human nature is a strong creature to fight against, but I hope you never stop taking chances because you're afraid to be embarrassed, to be vulnerable, or to fail.

And so I look at the three of you and think that I never want you to shrink from reaching high, from applying yourself even though the odds are against you. I don't want you to get so comfortable that you stop wanting to grow, or change. Timidity should never define you. I am so grateful for this experience (tears and all). It is not an ending for me but a new beginning. I learned that it is satisfying and terrifying to put yourself "out there" but that in the end, you cannot not fully know who you are until you trust yourself enough to open your arms, your heart and your life to higher goals.

I think this will make me a better parent because it has reawakened in me the sense of responsibility to encourage you to see that satisfaction can only be gained by hard work and tough choices, and maybe most importantly to recognize that there is always opportunity in disappointment. I suppose what I've long believed is that it isn't our successes that define us as much as our ability to embrace hardship with grace, dignity and the eagerness to move forward.