Fish Out of Water

So, it’s September and back to school is on the horizon. With that, a memory of one such event in my life.

Seeing the 18- and 19-year-old baby faces in my first FIT design class highlighted every one of my adult years. Any enthusiasm for returning to school took a nosedive as I thought of sharing this space with these kids. Yes, kids, as I could logistically be their mother! What the hell was I thinking? Suddenly conscious of my undoubtedly unhip jeans, I approached an empty seat and asked a hoodie-wearing figure, “Anybody sitting here”? The covered head barely lifted, just enough for me to catch the glint of a nose ring and brow piercing. “Nope,” came the mumbled reply. Plopping into the seat, I thought, No respect for elders.
 
This was in 2000, when I juggled a full-time graphic design job and evening classes. After mostly on-the-job, and continuing ed learning, I felt the need for academic validation. Buoyed by recognition of my design aptitude, I felt the confidence to go back to school. Looking toward the future, I felt a degree might enable advancement and/or new job opportunities.
 
The birth of my son in 2001 and now working near home brought a hiatus from my studies. Busy enough with childcare and part-time job, I couldn’t imagine schlepping to Manhattan. In 2006, when Eric started kindergarten, I grew restless, wanting to nourish my creative self. I also knew I had to complete at least an Associate degree to stay professionally relevant.
 
Round Two

This time around, the differences were more glaring, with the students seeming even younger. The clothing more outlandish, the music more jarring. I kept largely to myself, thinking anything I might say about my life would brand me as Stone Age. Having a child meant no hanging around after class, even if I wanted to. Often, I had exactly 12 minutes to make the train and get back in time for daycare pick up.

In time, the differences stopped bothering me. I resigned to my fashion sense. I kept up with trends in pop culture. With the music, I at least knew some artists and tunes, if not fully embracing them. I was tech savvy. Eventually, the more I observed this alien teenage-young adult population, I realized how much stays the same. Sure, the clothes and music were different, and technology now dominated design and production. But the romantic dramas, the pot-smoking, the sneering, the gossiping, those labeled “cool,” and those derided as not—these remained constants through the decades.
 
Plugging away, I focused on my assignments, and with positive critiques from the other students, I finally felt somewhat “in.” Some social successes occurred, as I shared a rapport with my instructors and befriended Maura, thirty-something and divorced. At least I could think of her as a younger sister, instead of my daughter. One surprise, though, caught me completely off guard. In my 3D Design class, I sat next to a Goth-inspired dude of maybe 19 or 20. Clad entirely in black with requisite piercings and tattoos, he talked to me constantly, twice inviting me for coffee. One day, he took it further. Leaning in, he asked me to Webster Hall that night to see some band with a crazy-ass name. What?!!? With a slight smile and thank you, I turned him down. Focusing back to my project, I though, Hmmm, I still got it.
 
After too many all-nighters and frustration at my seemingly slow progress, I finally got my Associate in 2010. By now I also had a demanding position at a nonprofit organization. To keep my skills sharp, I enrolled at SUNY Empire in Old Westbury without intending to go for a degree. Here I found a very different atmosphere, one geared toward working adults. With no formal classrooms, one met with a mentor once a month while completing coursework online. No worrying anymore what I was wearing.
 
Round Three

I withdrew after two years of juggling classes along with work and home. Loving, and feeling secure, at my job, I decided why pursue a degree? After all, I’m not looking to set the design world on fire at this point in my life. In 2016, a new administration brought unpopular changes to my organization, and I knew it was time to go. The writing on the wall now suggested I needed at least a bachelors to compete in the new job market. Back to school for a third time. While easier with Eric now in high school, my every spare minute was consumed with reading, researching, writing, and designing.
 
As the saying goes, “The third time’s the charm.” I’m happy to report, I now hold that elusive BA in Communications. And have come full circle—either consumed with consulting work, or grabbing whatever freelance project comes along. Still determined to keep current via online tutorials and workshops. As for those baby faces I first encountered years ago in class? They’re likely now the ones in charge of whether I get hired or not.