blaugra

The end of My Little MBA

Dear Blaugra,

I have been reviewing the files of students who have been accepted to our MBA program and noticed it has been quite some time since you registered for a class.

I had been wondering when I was going to get this letter. Finally. Finally I have to put in writing to the program I worked hard to get into that I will no longer be pursuing my MBA.

Maybe it was all a big expensive mistake. Several people supported me, but several people questioned why I wanted an MBA. Personal enrichment, I said. Career advancement, perhaps, even though I was aware that the market was glutted with MBAs.

I was fairly energetic and excitable when I enrolled...was it a manic phase of my bipolar disorder? I don't know. How can you tell when you're living it?

Now working toward living an even-keeled kind of life, with the necessary routine of going to bed at 9:00 every night, I can't imagine being in the College program. Not when class goes until 9:30 and bedtime is at 9:00, not when I'd have to cram all night just to understand the texts.

With the exception of the economics class, I was pretty disappointed with the experience.

Still, it was very hard to give up, and extremely difficult to tell my boss.  I'd been putting off informing College because that just made it so, like, final.

It's time to put this to bed and I finally will.  So thanks, College, for sending the letter.

"We only have 10 good years left!"

I've recently made the emotionally charged decision not to return to graduate school and the pursuit of my little MBA. It was a difficult one to leave behind. In the end, I figured that I tried it, I did really well, I grew, but I stopped liking it. And it wasn't healthy. So why keep doing it?

Enough of that business.

I was talking to a friend recently about this decision. She just got her B.S. degree. She's also in her 40's.  I asked her if she was going to continue, and go to grad school. She said she would go only if her employer required it and even then, maybe not. Because, she said, "We only have about 10 good years left."

10 years?

"Yes, because once you hit your 50s, everything goes to shit. Your body starts falling apart. Why should we spend all this time sitting, studying to get a degree during the last best years of our lives?"

She had a point. I had tended to think of myself as having a long life line with plenty of time to do more stuff. That's just not true.

A few years ago, I took what I said would be the last ride roller coaster ride of my life, and I went out on a doozy - the Cyclone on Coney Island, a roller coaster notorious for rattling your spine and kinking up your neck. I don't miss roller coasters.

Am I going for the last ride on other things? Like graduate school? After this ride, maybe. I had always imagined having an advanced degree but just like with other activities I put it off.  Then I realized I hated preparing Powerpoint presentations. I tried other things during the past few years, didn't like them, and walked away. Like, I won't be an accomplished Flamenco dancer. And that's okay. I don't miss Flamenco dancing.

So what will I pursue in the next 10 years? And what will you?

Reset!

I'm sitting in a restaurant with a grilled cheese and roasted tomato sandwich and some great coffee. I'm in a university area among people who are obviously academic, perhaps geniuses, or business whizzes working on their start-ups. I'm writing on a piece of paper. I'll type this as a blog post later. Later is now.

Academic is not how I'm feeling now. I dropped my little MBA class that just started, after a major, MAJ, anxiety attack. I couldn't even attempt one of the homework problems. It was algebraic.

Algebra takes me back to 7th grade where I had suddenly fallen from advanced math classes to a bad student with a D in algebra. After middle school I managed to dodge math classes for the rest of my life.

Until now.

I can't continue in my MBA at this school without understanding how to solve for X.

So, if Laura has $50 to invest in a security that pays 8% after 8 years, but she instead spends the $50 on a new bag on 70% clearance then rationalizes that she also has enough money to go out and buy oysters Rockefeller and a bottle of great wine and x = the amount of hours spent banging head against desk, how big is the pickle in my sandwich basket?

After extracting myself from the class, with some embarassment for feeling like an asshat, I've done the really crazy thing and enrolled in basic algebra at a community college. It's online so no one will see my tears of frustration.

I also have Danica Patrick McKellar's books which are appropriately geared for the middle school girl.

I don't know if any of this really matters in life but I'm gonna make it work.

Fun fearless female? Afraid not.

I envy those who are motivated by a fire in their belly or by wanting to be the change they want to see in the world. Lately, I've been motivated by fear. This is bothersome.

Example.

One reason I'm pursuing my little MBA is because I'm afraid. I'm fearful that when my present paid gig ends -- whenever that may be -- that I won't have the skills to get a new job. I'm afraid that I'll be called a dinosaur at age 40-something.

I don't want to listen to the news or read about the economy imploding but I do, because I'm afraid if I don't know about it that people will think I'm an idiot. It's not because I really want to know the bad news. I don't think I could do anything to change it, myself. It's not fun to listen to.

I color my hair because I'm afraid of being gray. I will add an extra 30 minutes to my planned driving time in order to avoid certain roadways where I am afraid of getting into a car accident. I'm afraid to tell people that I actually enjoy looking at what Kim Kardashian and her sisters are wearing in photos in OK! Magazine, and that I think they are marketing geniuses, because I'm afraid someone will yell in my face that "PEOPLE LIKE YOU ARE RUINING OUR COUNTRY."  Then I'm afraid that I'm ruining our country. I freak out when Salty D and I don't mow our lawn or weed because I'm afraid the neighbors will call the municipal offices and report us as being awful property owners. I'm afraid of getting old and not having anyone to take care of me.

What happened to the fearless fire I used to have?  The courage to look a raging lion in the face and do something ballsy, and live without fear of mockery or joblessness or injury?  Where the hell did it go?

Hang in there, baby!

 
On my last day of winter semester's class, I found myself doodling. This is one of my favorite doodles from the evening:  An emaciated angry cat, who is probably angry because its arms are abnormally long from hanging from that tree branch since the 1970's.

The fact that I had to write myself an inspirational poster message to get through the last few hours is indicative of my feelings about this class.  A true test of my patience.  The actual tests weren't so easy, either.

I lack a certain virtue.

I ran into a science professor friend at the coffee shop and she asked how this semester's MBA prerequisite class was going.

I couldn't lie. "Well, Doc, it's just...meh."

I told her I was lukewarm on this one. I shouldn't complain, right? Last semester, my first, I was a nervous wreck and the subject was so hard for me that I'd often cry into my textbook. But it was inspiring and challenging. That's what I'm paying for.

This semester should be my thing, my jam, management and marketing. Rock on. But I don't feel the same drive or passion, and it's not scintillating.

Uh-oh. Considering that I want an MBA in MANAGEMENT or MARKETING that could be a problem.

Another friend who has an MBA gave me some tough love. "Oh COME ON!" she said, "You can't get discouraged because you don't like one class!"  Yeah, I guess I'm being bratty.

Doc gave me some advice. "Kid," she calls me, "Academia is all about patience. You need to be patient."

Patience is one thing I'm short on these days. I have to learn patience.

Perhaps, that's what I'm meant to learn this semester.

...................................................................................................................

AND NOW IS THE TIME WHEN WE DANCE!

 

"Oh, Here Go Hell Come" *

My second MBA class starts today. I started reading the text on "management" and felt my stomach churn.

As I read it, all I could think about was my experiences as a manager and my experiences with my managers. All the uncomfortable cockups of the past 20 years just washed over me. It was very hard to objectively, freshly, digest the information without relating personally.

I thought of the stupid things I did in my 20's, my emotional moments in my 30's, the times that employees felt they were wronged, the retreats where people fell out of trees into the arms of their teammates to learn to trust their co-worker and maybe when they did that they accidentally farted.  Even the moments that were good at the time, looking back, they were actually very Michael Scott.

Then the text started asking questions about "in which quadrant do you reside?" and "how would you fill out this Johari window?"

I don't want to diagnose myself. I trudged through all this muck with plenty of seminars and therapy and I'm ready to learn new things.

Do I want to learn about "management?" Not it if involves self-diagnosis ad nauseum.

Am I going to question the worth of every single class? Of course I am.

The professor better be damn good.

* If you don't know the reference in the post title, do yourself a favor and check it.

Action Traction

I am in major action mode. It might be these herbal pills I'm taking.  I don't mean "herbal," they are legal herbs from the acupuncturist.  They might be magical, though.

I've got my desktop fountain going with its little stones that say "relax" and "balance" and sometimes I wish I had one that said "suck it," but falling water is soothing and the gentle tinkly noise helps me focus.

Focus feels good.  So here's some focus for ya.

> I'm going to yet another wedding this weekend, the third this fall. I've decided to vary my Eliza Parker dress/feathery-hair-ornament getup with some fancy hose on the legs.  I saw a pic of my legs and I didn't care for how they photographed.  They are like five times a whiter shade of pale than my face. They have to look good for when I do the Cuban Shuffle and new Electric Slide on the dance floor.

> I am slogging through the last few weeks of my first MBA class (or should I say, to be correct, MBA prerequisite class) but I am friggin' determined. 

> I'm already planning what to do and what not to do for the holidays. 1) very little shopping and decorating  2) lots of cookies  3) cards...maybe.   

> Now that the Kit Kat Konsumption season is behind me, I'm back to working on a healthier, iron-rich, good-fat-full array of food to shove in my face rather than the mac-n-cheese-n-potatoes-n-chocolate-college-student-stress-diet.  I'm hoping that was just a throwback.  A "Whoo hooo! College!" phase.  Although I can't quite stop consuming caffeine.

Of course, most of this thinking is in reaction to and preparation for my dad's surgery and recovery.  Must feel like I'm in control of something.  Right?

Classy.

I definitely have a love-hate relationship with going back to school. I love class but I hate preparing for it. In fact, I get so anxious on the afternoon of class day that I have to either drink my chamomile lavender tea an hour beforehand, or pop a little yellow pill. Or both.

I'm definitely not as bunched up as I was a few weeks ago, but I'm still a tightly wound nerve ball. I think about all the homework problems I couldn't get right, about how I spent 10 hours on studying one chapter and only spent 5 hours on the remaining 3 chapters for the week and then how I can't remember anything even with my homemade flash cards.

Sometimes this class prep routine ends up being...not so good. Last night was one of those times. My little helper pill and my sleep deprivation and cumulative anxiety rendered me a little groggy. Bad decisions. Plus I still was sporting "wedding hair" from the wedding I attended on Saturday night. Big and poufy but made bigger by feeling frazzled.

And here's what I hate more. I'm sitting in class, and the professor throws a question out. Maybe it's something like, "How does the Japanese macroeconomy differ from the U.S. macroeconomy?"  Easy, right?  Well, believe it or not, that answer I knew.  I can't believe I know that. I didn't know how to answer that 5 weeks ago.  Education is cool.

So, when I know an answer, I blurt it out. Actually, I've learned to raise my hand. (Years of blurting out thoughts at meetings had obliterated my classroom manners.)

Then the professor asks another question, something dealing with numbers, something like, "What is the U.S. budget deficit?" and I can't remember. I especially can't remember because I put all my energy into remembering what was going on in Japan, and also because I was zonked.  So I shook my head to signal "I don't know" and looked around the room at the other students. Nobody answered her.  Then she yelled at us in disbelief.

I was thinking I was the only one zonked out on drugs and sleepless and forgetful about numbers. What's their excuse? Maybe the zombies got to them and ate half their brains. But come on, at least one person in the class had to know the answer. Right? Anyway, that, I hate.  Then I also hate myself for not knowing. Because if I knew, I would have answered her instead of sitting through 20 seconds of irritating silence while everyone looked around the room like a bunch of dumbasses.

Also I've been eating like a student.  Quick comfort foods like takeout burritos (fresh made not frozen!), mac-n-cheese, soup, apples, Kit Kats and eggs.  (I like eggs.) Everything but ramen noodles.  But I miss cooking every night. I don't know if I can keep eating like this or my butt is going to be too big for all my favorite sweaters. Because the other thing I hate about spending 20 hours a week sitting on my butt studying, after sitting on my butt working, (combined with sitting on my butt watching Glee,) I'm just not moving enough. Oh, whoah is me. 

Freaking out about My Little MBA

I actually thought it would be all happy energy and pretty rainbow manes.

When it's actually actually been more like this.

(this is a work that's in the Kazuya Akimoto Art Museum, I don't know where that is or who did it but it's one freaked out little horse.)

I find the subject matter of my first class fascinating. I like the professor. I like being in a classroom again. I like how everyone in the class is going, "Holy shit." just like me, because for most of us it's our very first class back at college, with many years since our bachelor's degrees were earned.

 

But I've totally fuh-reaked out: