Many years ago, a boy I was dating and with whom I shared four or five of the most intellectually and emotionally electric years of my life told me, "Grad school sucks the life out of you. Really..." He was a jaded Psych PhD student; I was an up-and-coming MA student in musicology. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Graduate school was self-actualization writ large...dreams fulfilled...right...right?
Fast forward through three years of work on the Masters, an ego-crushing oral exam in which yours truly had to redo the history component, PhD apps, acceptances, and a year-and-some of course work in a nifty, progressive department at one of the better public university's in the country. At this point, all I can say is, "yes, my dear wherever you are, you were right."
Graduate school is tough, but it's the most cushy, luxurious type of tough in the world. At least in my field. Having said that, I've been at my ulcery wits end lately when three things happened that hit the reset button: Rickie Lee Jones, a Met HD "live" broadcast of Aida, and Melissa Manchester. These three events, which occurred across the span of two weeks, reminded me in the most glorious way that I am studying something that I love.
So, in the spirit of trying to capture this feeling and remember more often what it is that I enjoy about what I'm doing, I endeavored to begin a project I thought of several years ago. I'm going to write about music. Specifically, I'm going to write my way through my CD collection, one album at a time, even if it takes the rest of my life to do it.
We can only begin, as they say, at the beginning.
