Two Roads Diverged. . .

irregular flow from 4khz on Vimeo.

It would be nice if I was contemplative sylph, like the one featured in the video above. The reality is that I’m a tad more frantic when it comes to making life-changing decisions.

The soundtrack to my stream of consciousness is more like the erratic parts of Stravinsky’s Right of Spring (3:50 onward in this clip, for instance). There is, however, one part of the above video that I relate to: Every time I put my finger on a new fact that I should consider, it spirals out in a spasmodic stream.

Until a few days ago, I had no doubts that Ryerson University would be my future home. RU has offered me a much-appreciated acceptance to their competitive Master of Journalism program and much-needed renewable scholarship that would cover about 90% of my academic expenses. I’ve since delivered my confirmation and paid my deposit.

Recently, however, the University of British Columbia has personally contacted me and offered me an extremely prestigious fellowship (that would cover my tuition and a significant portion of my living expenses), an opportunity to TA for a New Media course (that would also be an income stream) and the possibility of doing some international work. Not to mention the stunning degree of personal care and attention that UBC has given me.

As you may understand, the news leaves me feeling quite conflicted.

Ryerson had initially been my first choice but now I have to think through all the personal, professional and practical considerations that enshroud me. I want to make sure I understand and appreciate everything that both schools have to offer before making this difficult decision. At the same time, I realize how blessed I am…and to be honest I still can’t quite believe this is all happening.

Both schools are incredible, so my mind spins with thoughts of Toronto or Vancouver. Support network or independence. Being close to my loved ones or creating brand new relationships. Media hub of Canada or burgeoning city of Olympic potential.

I have a migraine.

I guess I just have to accept that every choice is half chance.

The letter from Ryerson

Ryerson campus

For the past few weeks I have been checking my mailbox compulsively.

I’ve been imagining a meeting room filled with people and paperwork, and only hoping that my grad school application would be noticed, remembered, accepted . . . dare I say appreciated?

Last night I spent a good 20 minutes forcing my anxiety upon my old friend, Sandy. “I heard they’re supposed to get back to you in late February or early March! Well, it’s March 11th and I still don’t know where my applications are.”
Sandy tried to reassure me as I bit at my nails.

When I got home, I scooped some leftovers onto a plate and walked into the dark living room, where the only light was coming from the TV. I sat down at the table, sighed, and began to shovel spoonfuls of macaroni salad into my mouth.  As my brother chortled over something on South Park, a large envelope caught my eye.

Is that the Ryerson logo?

I dropped my fork, practically spat out the macaroni, flicked on the lights, snatched the envelope and tore it open.”Why didn’t anyone tell me this was here? Why didn’t anyone tell me this was HERE?!” I shrieked.

My brother stared at the screen and shrugged. My sister murmured something about not knowing what I was talking about.

I yanked the papers out of the envelope but couldn’t bring myself to read past the first line:
Dear Ms. Carletti.

My throat went dry. I slowly rose from the table. “I am PLEASED to inform you . . .the Journalism program has approved your admission to Ryerson University.”

My brother and sister stopped what they were doing and looked at me. There was a split second of silence and then . . .

A new window of opportunity

“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yeees!” I lept into the air and lunged toward my little sister. She sprang up and hugged me and we spun around in gloriously exaggerated circles. (And this was before I’d even read about the scholarship.)

Finally! The culmination of all those fees, essays, recommendation letters, transcripts, application forms and sleepless nights. I get to stay in this city with my family. I get to work with some of the best journalists in the country. I get to intern in Toronto, the media hub of Canada! I can’t wait!

I know I’m supposed to be modest and discreet but I haven’t felt this exicted in weeks! I’m aware of what the industry looks like and I know full well that I am crazy for going into Journalism . . . but I tell you, ladies and gentleman, that crazy feels really really good today.