After deciding to employ a movie-theater-style of approach to the small auditorium my library school orientation was hosted in, I seated myself in a center row flush against a wall. Other students filed in, filling all of the seats around me, the lights dimmed, teachers and faculty lined up at the podium and as the two hour, break-less presentation began so in fact, did my period.
I’m ashamed to admit, that I didn’t retain any of the names of my classmates who I met that night, standing with my legs tightly crossed and my book bag swung low behind my back, but for the past month I’ve been trying to make up for it. What’s most strikingly different to me about graduate school versus college is how hard it is to meet people. In my program students hail from the entire tri-state area and range in age from fresh undergraduates to second or third career seekers. Overall though MLS students seem to be at an advantage as there is a certain self-selection, which almost always guarantees an all-too-rare-in-the-world mix of ferocious curiosity and genuine kindness.
Along with my three classes I’ve also managed to pick up two internships, a volunteer dog walking shift and a weekend kayak building class up in Massachusetts. I find the fall to be invigorating, and this year I’m trying to really run with it. Naturally there are the mornings where I lay in bed groaning at my alarm clock, unable to muster the energy to even turn it off because I am too exhausted from dreams of my archiving project at Booklyn (How exactly does one measure a single dreadlock, the radius in centimeters? The length and the diameter? And for that matter, what should I put into my condition notes?). Yet eventually the alarm gets turned off, and as I run sleepily to the train the thought that runs through my head is: You are doing this because this is the thing that you love, that you have always loved and now you get to do it.