I once read an article about a woman who received her undergraduate degree in history at the age of 93, or something around that age.  I remember thinking about how old she was and how far fetched it seemed to hold that out as some major accomplishment.  I mean, what the hell took her so long?  Aren’t undergraduate degrees for 20 somethings who are embarking upon life’s journey full of vim, vigor and vitality? What was she going to do with her newfound letters at the tender age of 93?  I was 28 when I thought those things and now, at the age of 44, that accomplishment no longer seems so far fetched.

When my wonderfully supportive husband suggested that I return to the hallowed halls to finish what I started 26 years ago (that’s younger than most college students by the way), I thought he was joking.  I mean, I really thought he was pulling off a great little practical joke and, for my husband that’s no easy feat.  He was serious.  When I really started thinking about it, I could come up with quite a few reasons against embarking upon this journey:

1. I’m too old
2. It’s too expensive
3. My job’s too demanding
4. I don’t have the time
5. I’m too old - oh, did I mention that already?  It bears repeating.

My husband, in his patient and calm way, gently shot down each one of my objections.  He’s very very good at that, which can be infuriating.  After we hashed through all of my objections, I started thinking seriously about what he was saying and how I could go about actually doing what he was suggesting.  

I should tell you that I’m actually quite close to being done with my undergraduate work. Having started in 1984, I have a pretty good head start on my classmates.  Much like everyone else, I went away to college right after high school.  I was excited to get away from my small town roots and venture out into the world on my own.  However, I was completely unprepared for the “world” and all of its temptations.   I discovered alcohol, sex and delicious freedom.  What I didn’t discover was the importance of attending class.  I managed to eek out a .79 GPA at the end of my first semester.  When the grades came in the mail, my dad just shook his head and said, “wow, I didn’t even know they gave them below 1.”  I returned for my second and third semesters with a renewed sense of hope and pride and the threat of expulsion if I didn’t get my shit together.  I got it together and bumped my GPA up quite a bit, then I met a boy.  This boy, as it turned out, ended up being my husband and then the father of my children.  Over the next 16 years, I took classes here and there - between the children, the divorce, the disastrous relationship, the crazy job and the loss of said crazy job and it’s tuition reimbursement plan.  In the end, I was left several classes short of my degree and holding a $5,000 unpaid tuition bill thanks to Enron and Arthur Andersen.  

Fast forward to 2010, am I ready for a return to learning?  Well, it seems that most of my objections have been overcome.  I figured out a way to pay for it myself - it sucks and I’m expecting Loft and Whole Foods to conduct a well-being visit any day now.  I have talked to my bosses and they are on board (for the most part) with my decision.  I’m only taking 1 class per week so it shouldn’t be that time consuming.  So, as you can see, I have addressed all of the original objections.  Well, not all.  That “too old” thing - can’t overcome that.  Just have to learn to deal with that one and hey, with age comes wisdom and, in the end, isn’t that what I’m seeking.