If it’s not a step in the right direction, it’s a step in
the wrong one. While this may sound glib and reek of “all or nothing thinking
(one of my favorite cognitive distortions), it does seem apropos given the
thoughts in my previous entry about returning to school. Sure Social Work would
afford me the opportunity to help people, a passion of mine, it’s an
approximation towards my ultimate goal of doing so through my writing. It’s not
like being a therapist wouldn’t provide rich writing material (even with
confidentiality mandates), but after a certain point, it’s like stop beating
around the fucking bush, be direct, ignore B-Y and jump straight from A to
Z. Sure there is something to be said
for respecting the process, but the only one holding me back from me is me, and
perhaps that’s the most frustrating part is the actual execution of it all. Am
I too rigid in my thinking (me? Never, ha!) The proposed writing project doesn’t
have to be a memoir, perhaps something of the self help variety? The latter
would be far easier, due to the logistics of retelling a decade of memories
clouded by chaos. Furthermore as it regards certain processes, there is a time to
respect the process, and a time to say fuck it, who are you the processor, or institution
that’s doing the processing, to evaluate, grade, license, test, etc., me? That
was a major issue for me at Berkeley with the interminable hoops through which
they expected me to jump for MA/Ph.D. It was one thing in college, which was
completed out of parental expectation, ease, and naivety to some extent, but as
someone once so astutely observed, you have to graduate at some point, and then
it’s back to square one, or two. Develop the career, progress professionally,
etc. I remember being conscious of this during my final years at USC; I went
hard because truthfully, I didn’t want to go back for any reason, which would
explain my grand four year hesitation in finally committing to graduate school.
Finally free! “And you want me to sign up for more of that bullshit?” Often
times, you don’t know what you are doing until you stop doing it, and when
forced to re-do that same thing, the perspective granted is eye-opening.
As far as school goes, it was my bread and butter from a
very young age. If I were to fully commit to an MSW program and give myself
every opportunity to succeed by choosing a program wisely there is no doubt
that I could excel were I able to quiet the, “don’t test me voices.” Honestly,
being tested at this stage in my life, in any form or fashion in general, but
academically/professionally in particular, seems like a juvenile exercise in discipline,
order, and authority. Even with the extra-curricular mayhem at Berkeley, I
excelled GPA-wise, but even thinking of being tested for the MA Orals was indescribably
irritating. “You really want me to sit down, read these forty or so canonical
texts, and regurgitate their contents to you on command?” Besides being a waste
of my time, it seemed and still does to be pedagogically inefficient at best,
depending how your training and temperament. It was Maya Angelou who said, “there
is a difference between being trained an educated.” If I want to have anything to
do with a train, believe me, it wouldn’t be of the academic variety. I’m
already knowing for the MSW, there would be a master’s thesis, then an internship,
then a licensing exam, then countless renewals and evaluations as the years
progress. That’s a lot of testing for someone who long ago lost the tolerance
for them. If focused, I will pass, defeat, break, and defecate on any such test
that requires academic recall. Don’t test me, don’t push me, don’t try me. My
resume dating back to elementary speaks for itself, and at this stage in my
life, feeling the need to prove something to someone would be akin to acting. I’m
nobody’s Denzel. Like OK, teacher or supervisor or whomever, why are we playing
this game again. Games are the province of children, so why stick to the
puerile script, so to speak.
Had to get that off my chest.
Nas captures my sentiments brilliantly in song called reachout.
If I would more technically proficient, I would embed the link, but instead,
here go the lyrics to the first verse, with my favorites in italics:
I’m stuck, money problems pop up
How will I survive, guess it’s best to decide not to decide
So that’s my decision
Whatever happens happens
I keep makin’ my millions
Can see myself in presidential campaign dinners
But I’m passin’ blunts around a bunch of gang members
When you’re too hood to be in them Hollywood circles
And you’re too rich to be in that hood that birthed you
And you become better than legends you thought were the greatest
And out grow women you love and thought you could stay with
Life become clearer when you wipe down your mirror
And leave notes around for yourself to remember
I like to teach and build
With brothers about how easy it is to reach a mill
All you need is some skill, then it’s grindtime
Imagination better than knowledge, say’s Einstein
It’s all in the mind
Nasty the nicest, I’m somewhat of a psychic
Just one minute after it’s heard
You all excited, you all repeat it
So call me a genius, if you didn’t
Now that I said it I force you to think it
Write in my little vignettes, sipping Moet
When you vision me, you vision the best
When I was young they called me, Olu’s son
Now he Nas father, I was the good seed
He was the wise gardener
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