Home for a Rest

Despite my frequent changes in location and occupation over the past three years, this September marked the most dramatic transition I have experienced in a long time. I don't really possess the words to explain why - I'm not totally sure I even understand how extreme this shift has been yet. With that acknowledgement of emotional turbulence out of the way, here's a few actual events that happened in my first semester as a graduate student. Maybe they'll help illuminate things.

But first - remember how I used to play basketball? I shot around mostly by myself in Arthur's Pass, and played once a week while I was in Spain. I've been dribbling a basketball since I could stand, but I gave plenty of sports a try at one time or another. A few years ago, it occurred to me that basketball is a relatively safe sport that I could expect to play for more years than certain others (rugby, for instance). I'm also more talented at it than any other game, so I decided to make it my sport of choice. Returning to a university setting also meant the possibility of intramurals, pickup games, etc. But guess what happened on September 1 during a casual game of 21?

 

I badly dislocated my right middle finger - my shooting hand, and on a day when I was ON FIRE. I have photos of the x-ray, but they have made people gag, so I won't post them here. After weekly occupational therapy and four months of playing time, I'm clear to play again. My hand was a conversation starter as I met my new classmates and professors, and did not inhibit note-taking as I write with my left hand. It also served as a reminder of the convenience of the Canadian health care system - apart from a lengthy wait in the emergency room. No bills, no forms, just a friendly occupational therapist who met with me weekly for months. She also reminds me that I'll "have a fat finger forever," and that my "hand modeling days are over." I told her I can still model my left hand.

After that little excitement, my term began. As we will spend much of our time studying the Halifax Regional Municipality (HRM), the first year of the MPlan program starts with an optional field trip to a destination anywhere else in the Maritime Provinces (Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia, and New Brunswick, for the non-Canadians reading this). We spent several nights in Yarmouth, NS, and took day trips to various nearby locations. The whole thing was an excellent way for the new class to get acquainted with each other and the program. Plus, I went on the best whale-watching trip of my life.

Whale-watching off Brier Island.

Peggy's Cove.

Lunenburg.

Sunset in Yarmouth.

Once the actual classes got started, my definition of "busy" had to be rewritten. Planning is a diverse, complex field, and it seems the best way to learn it is by doing. I agree with that philosophy, but when "learning by doing" means having multiple assignments due almost every week, it also means coming up with creative metaphors to explain the situation. Drowning was one that I used frequently in September, or the more colo(u)rful version in which I described my class as a group of preschoolers being taught how to swim by being kicked into the deep end of a pool. 

I emphasize that I used those terms in September, because as the assignments started getting submitted and the grades started coming back, we all began to adjust. By the end of October, I'd gained some degree of comfort - I stopped listening to pump-up music before presentations, for one thing. As the final assignments rolled around in December, the stress had been replaced by the most complete burnout I've ever experienced. I have no creative metaphors for how burnt out I was because...I was burnt out. But I guess this group of preschoolers figured out how to swim. Or at least keep our heads above water.

Being so busy has not completely prevented me from having a social life. My classmates and I dominated a campus trivia night for weeks before our first loss. It's been a while since I lived in a city that has professional sports teams, so I've made it out to a Mooseheads hockey game and a Rainmen basketball game (Canada has its own pro basketball league - who knew?). Most importantly, several friends from the past have become friends in the present, a privilege I never anticipated.

The Rainmen don't draw big crowds, but those of us that go get good seats for cheap.

But the holidays have been a welcome opportunity to exhale, recharge, and get some perspective. This program has been forcing me to ask myself a number of questions, few of which have easy answers. However, I'm only three months into a two-year program. Of more immediate concern is that I'm two weeks into my break, and there remains ample sleeping and chocolate-eating to be done before next semester starts.          

Montreal, part of the scenic route I took home by train.