Fall felt like a new year more than January first with its fireworks ever did.
I would have a new teacher, or maybe a bunch of them, and a new gaggle of classmates who would be my friends or foes.
I might get smarter, or discover some new way in which I was smart...or not smart at all.
Fall meant volleyball season, new players and perhaps a new coach. It meant being surprised by my growing body's athleticism.
This fall, at 48 years of age, I’m going back to school, but I’m not getting to choose my tin lunch box like I did in elementary school. (My favorite was my Charlie Brown lunchbox because entrepreneurial Lucy was there charging five cents for a therapy session. I wonder if Lucy had her Masters in Social Work. Probably not. She probably didn’t have a medical degree either, though she advertised herself as a psychiatrist. Poser.)
I am beginning a masters program at the University of Washington's School of Social Work. In this school, I hope that I will learn new ways to give to a world that has given so much to me.