Among all those files that I'm pushing and pulling around are a lot of school stuff. I'm lucky, though, in that I've had the foresight to keep that all organized from the get go. Every assignment in a folder, in a folder for the course, in a folder for the semester. Bam, bam, bam. Dump all the semester folders into one all-encompassing "School Archive" folder, and problem solved.
And to wrap up that particular master folder, all I had to do was to boot up the laptop to file away everything from this last semester into a folder called Winter 2013. Semester eight of eight. C'est fini. And let me tell you, it's odd to see all those neatly labeled semesters all together in one folder like that. So tidy, so... contained. Squared away. Even worse, archived.
That's right, I have just archived an era of my life. I have tucked away four years worth of 60-80hrs a week as if they were just some pieces of paper to file. So many late nights and frayed nerves. Instant noodle dinners. Winter commuting, followed by a trudge through the snow to get to campus. Squeezing in work and tutoring and favours and freelance here and there. Hah, tutoring; eating those crappy instant noodles at lunch while I read through and correct an essay from a Chinese exchange student. Oh, the grammar. And the vocabulary, too - second-language students have a way of using a thesaurus/dictionary in such a way as to craft truly confounding, while technically correct, sentences. I'll admit that I had never before heard of the word 'urbane', and even if I had, I never would have thought it'd be a great word to describe how Jesus Christ looks in medieval paintings.
But I got through the noodles and odd essays and late nights. I got to the other side, even. I came out with skills and competencies beyond what I even knew was possible when I started. I developed talents in other, totally unexpected avenues. I now play the ukulele with a certain degree of proficiency for some reason. I know all my major and minor chords, and a few strum patterns, and a couple different ways of picking. I remember starting learning my first three chords (G, D, Am), so I could play Coldplay's Green Eyes. I strummed that song so many times, over and over, to the point where I almost can't stand it anymore. It's still a pretty song, though.
I also somehow became good at presenting of all things. As a shy, borderline anti-social introvert with extreme lack of confidence, this still kind of baffles me. But I remember where it started, way back in my first design fundamentals class where we were presenting our third assignment. We generally went through pieces in the order that they were put up on the ledge by students. I was 2nd or 3rd up, and before we started our crit the prof told us we had to introduce our piece and talk about it before it was the rest of the class' turn to comment. I didn't have much time to write a script in my head or get nervous. Instead I just decided to pretend to be confident about what I had made, and try to skew the words about to come out of my mouth towards why what I did was the right solution. And that was it. I got up and crushed it - I remember one girl commenting on how I "just explained everything really well." Since then, I consistently get compliments on my presentations, for projecting, being entertaining, knowledgeable and confident. It still makes me wonder what would've happened if that split-second decision would have landed on the side of "oh man, this is going to suck. My piece isn't good enough and I hate presenting." Maybe I would've been one of those people that mumbles in front of the class and rambles on and on.
Way back at the very start of this whole school mess, I applied for student loans and was summarily rejected because I had some savings. This kind of freaked me out - I wanted to keep some savings as an emergency cushion for a worst-case scenario, and I was relying on that student loan because I didn't think I'd be able to work part time while in school. I got scared. And in that moment, I made a goal. I would not go into debt over this whole debacle. No loans. Not owing anyone any money, no loan payments to drag me down.
So without hesitation, I worked part time. Prior I had talked to some friends I admired who were doing just that, going to school and working part time. I thought it was a herculean effort, and I couldn't handle that. But apparently I could, and I had a herculean effort hiding inside of me to give. 60hrs of school a week, and another 20 of work on the weekend and holidays and some evenings around classes. I remember getting to a point where I finished an assignment a bit early and I had no other projects on the go. So at 8pm, I got in my car and went to work for three hours before going home to be in bed on time. Part of that was due to the fact that I didn't know how to not work by that point. And when the summer rolled around, I made an agreement with my employers so I could work overtime and bank the hours to be paid out later. I worked 60hrs a week that summer, every week. What a grind.
No debt. Do anything to avoid debt. No spending on entertainment stuff, no buying snacks or treats, no eating out, no toys. Never once over the four years did I buy something from the vending machine or cafeteria (which apparently made award-winning stuff, but I never experienced why). Every purchase was scrutinized, every spare piece of change saved and accounted for.
Time trudged by, and I got hired to run study groups, thanks to the study guides I had made for myself in art history and passed along to the head of Learning Assistance to give to all the other students in first year. Not much later, I scored my first freelance client, doing odd pieces of work as they came. I had to drop working my part time job in the fall of second year because of the brutal demands of school work. My head turned to mush. I had one less course in the following winter semester, and I used that time slot to go back to work. More brain mush. I started doing some private one-on-one tutoring, leading off with an old Chinese lady in her 60's whose paper would introduce me to that word 'urbane'. She'd pay me for my time, but would also give me food now and again. Fries, chocolates, fruit. One time an entire roasted chicken, which still makes me smile.
Fall and winter came and passed, giving birth to spring. I had started taking my academic courses in then to ease the pressure during the rest of the school year, keeping the door open to work part time. Also in the Spring, I had to move to a new location. I scoured the classifieds for somewhere to live, and got in with a crazy Chinese landlord, sharing a house with his wife and young daughter and and three sheds. Since then, the sheds have multiplied to a total of six (there's now more sheds in the back yard than yard), and the house is under a constant state of renovations. At one point, the handle of the front door was installed backwards - key hole facing in, locking mechanism out. My landlords are so Asian that there wasn't a fork or can opener in the house when I arrived. But the rent was cheap, the space sufficient, and utilities included. Everything I bought to make do, from the tupperware for homemade meals to the standalone radiator to warm up my room during the winter, was purchased with shrewdness. I didn't want no debt.
Another summer of working and saving. Without overly-awesome roomates that didn't mind doing the shopping, I started to take charge of my own groceries. The first few trips were very tedious as I compared prices, and as I figured out the best deals I crafted meals that I'd eat again and again from the same set of groceries I'd buy every two weeks. Another fall and winter semester, full of brainmush and repetitive meals. Lots of sandwiches and lots of reheated rice or pasta-based leftovers.
One more spring of taking academic courses while maintaining a full work week. Part-time spring gave way to a full-time summer. But there was too much brain mush and too much saving. My resolve started to weaken, and I somehow bought a used DSLR from a co-worker and I went on a trip down to Portland with my brother. So much money, but... Probably for the best. I kind of needed it. And there were the odd raise and bursary that I had gotten over the last couple years. I could afford it, right? And I guess I did, but I had some guilt to show for it. It was the first time I'd actually used my vacation pay for its intended purpose, rather than getting paid out for it like I usually did.
But surprisingly, the world kept spinning. While I had always tracked all my transactions and spending, I got new budgeting software. In a move that surprised even myself, I assigned myself $25 each month for eating out. I found that I could stretch that out to a few 6" subs and one fast-food meal.
Then came the last year. The professors gathered all of the fourth year students together and talked about how they had a scholarship to attend the School of Visual Arts in New York for a year, and how students should talk to them if they're interested in applying. I huffed towards myself at that one - everyone saw it as such a prestigious opportunity, and I just wanted to be done with school. How did my classmates get the time and money to want to do something like this? So I plowed on, through one last fall and one last winter full of part time work (between three jobs) and full time school.
And then... Graduation.
With distinction, even (which, apparently, is for a GPA of 3.5 or higher).
With money left in my savings account, and without anyone to owe it to.
I feel damn proud of those three things. Especially because of how the three of them compound the achievement of the others.
Financially, I did a lot better than I had any right to. I'm not naive; I know a good portion of it was luck. My main job was VERY accommodating (having my own office keys and good bosses meant I had the most flexible schedule I could ever imagine), and it paid me far better than I think I deserved. The study groups and private tutoring also paid well and came about from a split-second decision to share my study notes. I found a ridiculously good deal on (albeit rather odd) living accommodations. Some bursaries, some scholarships. Some freakishly convenient (and lucrative) freelance opportunities. I also had really awesome support from friends and family that helped me make it all the way through.
Yes, very very lucky. But a lot of late nights and hard work too. I like to think I earned the results I got. You always hear about that person that goes through school while working three jobs and maintaining a 3.x GPA. I think I'm just now coming to grips with the fact that I am that person. That weirdo with no free time and no life, that just goes all out to do the best they can, and somehow doesn't go insane or dead. Don't get me wrong - it has taken a toll on me in some not-so-great ways (yaaaaay spending anxiety!) and I feel like I could've done even more. But nevertheless, here I am, not insane. For now, at least.
I keep flashing back to before I started, when a relative of mine informed me in a flat, matter-of-fact tone that no one goes through school without getting into debt unless they're living at home, having their parents pay for the whole thing, or receiving a comprehensive dream scholarship. I had none of those things. But I remember hearing about my brother-in-law (who's a Grade A awesome guy) who made it through his schooling without taking out loans. I guess that little seed stuck in my mind and grew into a massive tree that pushed me along more than I give it credit for.
And now I seem to have a great deal of foliage spilling out of my cranium, and I'm wrapped up and bound in vines that once grew around a tree trunk before spidering out. But it got me to where I needed to go, and I got there indeed.
-Cril
I pulled into Nazareth, was feelin' about half past dead
I just need some place where I can lay my head
"Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed?"
He just grinned and shook my hand, "no" was all he said
Take a load off, Fannie
Take a load for free
Take a load off, Fannie
And you put the load right on me
The Band - The Weight
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