When I moved to Savannah I was determined to be a Biology major on my way to a job in the medical field, focused on science, but in love with words. If people and death aren't clear-cut, neither are the paths we take, the ones we follow, or the ones we veer off to when we feel we've lost our way. Five years, two majors, one minor, many, many jobs (most at the same time), two years as Editor of the school's art and lit journal, bursts of rather frenzied political fervor, the loss of my father, the end of my first significant adult relationship, the beginning of my best and current relationship, invaluable time with some really amazing ladies, introductions to authors and works and lines and words by people who cared about the individual in their office more than their own lofty projects, and a paper comparing Willy Wonka and Wallace Stevens later, I gained my BA in English with a minor in Gender Studies.
I felt so restless during those years - mostly with myself. I was going taking too long, moving too far off track. I spent the first two years trying to make up my mind, the middle year muddling through grief, and the last two years finding my stride, carving my niche, and gathering my voice.
I didn't walk in the graduation ceremony, and though that's mostly because I'm terribly impatient with long, organized celebrations that begin in folding chairs and end in photos, it was more than that, too. My undergraduate time was complicated and confused, most likely no different than many of those who attend college, but even though I was relieved to have completed the hours necessary for my degree, I knew I wasn't done - I knew there was more to go, and so I saved the walk for the very end, and end we'll get to soon.