Because the feeling of youth has generally left me, I find myself worrying if my feeble mind is up to the task of educational rigor. Will my rate of retention be equal to that of my younger self? How will it feel to be the old mom on the class of eighteen year old whipper-snappers? How will I keep up with my household responsibilities or cope with not being home to lay my daughter down to sleep every night? I've already made a lengthy mental list of all the reasons I shouldn't do this.
But a fire of learning burns in my soul and yearns to prove itself. My inner voice tells me school will only be more difficult the longer I wait. My husband supports me and wants me to know what it feels like to stare at that embossed diploma. After all, he has two. So I've signed up for classes, readied my work station, and prayed hard, so hard the tension of my words being forced to heaven have pushed me prostrate on the floor night after night.
The upcoming back-to-school date has become my new deadline. Sewing projects, cleaning assignments, and copious amounts of socializing must be completed now to fill the void I will create myself as I withdraw from society a bit for the sake of essays and assignments. And I find it somewhat amusing that the rhythm of life I resisted for so long is being so disrupted just as I've come to love it so dearly.
So, please, if you see me at the grocery store and I burst into tears, know it's how I fight away insanity. And if you see me on campus and I'm glowing, know it's because as hard as this next chapter may prove to be, learning was that first love I never got over.