Yesterday, I participated in my first ever professional conference. A friend/classmate/colleague and I presented a research study we did for a class winter quarter. It was a small conference put on by the graduate school, so it was low-key and low-pressure, but it was a professional conference nonetheless. Good practice for the future and a nice addition to the resume. Because the conference was on a Wednesday, I had to skip my Wednesday afternoon class. It’s not the most stimulating class ever, so I wasn’t too broken up about it.
Then today I realized that the class I skipped yesterday was my very last class. The. Last. One. There are no more grad school classes to take. I have a two finals to write for next week and in NINE DAYS I will be walking across a stage in a silly hat and a cape like some sort of academic superhero to receive my degree.
Holy hell, how did that happen?
Grad school has been a wild, surreal, stressful, terrible, amazing two years. It seems like I started the program forever ago and yesterday. I alternate between feeling like I’ve got this and feeling like they really shouldn’t be allowed to graduate because I know nothing (Jon Snow). But here I am, applying for super amazing jobs that not that long ago I was in no way qualified for. And now I am. How about that.
My friends, my family, and especially Barrett have been patient, loving, supportive, and incredibly tolerant of my stressed-out panic attacks. They’ve celebrated and commiserated all the ups and downs and I would never, ever have done it without them.
And even while it’s been crazy and stressful, the last two years have been a wonderful period in my life. I’m so glad I took the leap. I learned so much and feel like I’m finally pursuing something that I’m passionate about. I’m so excited to see where things are going to go from here.
Master of the Universe in 9…8…