Friends, I think I’m finally emerging from a six-month pseudo-funk, where my reality of teaching and parenthood clashed weekly with dreams of going to Harvard. Yes, Harvard.
It’s the only school in the nation that offers a fully funded doctorate in education, so I dove head-first into the application process and signed up for Boston rental notifications. My husband Doo and I spoke endlessly about how the move would go down, whether we’d sell our house, how he’d commute, and ultimately where we’d go after. We had a great time planning for all the new possibilities and yelling “It’s a sign!” whenever we saw a reference to New England. By the time acceptance emails were due to arrive, I’d convinced myself that I’d be part of the class of 2026, become a state leader in educational policy and then eventually win the White House.
But the fantasizing made me less and less content with my current situation. Little things at school started to annoy me, our aging house began driving me crazy, and even living in Indiana became a bore. The lure of a potential Ivy League existence caused me to poo-poo my actual life. And then I got the “no,” which in hindsight, maybe wasn’t such a surprise. We are talking Harvard. Nevertheless, I moped around for a solid two weeks, grieving my “loss” while feeling naïve and wholly inadequate.
But I’ve rebounded! I’ve applied to a part-time online program at Illinois (fingers crossed!) and Doo and I are considering a future yearlong sabbatical and slow-travel around the world, volunteering and doing cool work-aways. Harvard shmarvard. Let’s go to Bali!