Goal in Life: Never to Waste a Three Day Weekend--

It's been fifteen years since I've been to a graduation. Back then I could barely concentrate on Tom Foley, our keynote speaker, as I was thinking about leaving for Europe the next day with my best friend. The ceremony came and went while I imagined flying into Paris, thought about what I still needed to pack, and carrying too much sense of responsibility for a twenty-something, but just enough hope. That day, I walked away from the University of Washington amazed I was actually through with school and in disbelief that there would be no more homework, thrilled that I would now get a chance to finally experience "the real world."

If I ever write a graduation address, my theme will be "the real world" and the fact that there isn't a real world out there waiting for you, but that "the real world" begins the moment you take your first breath on this earth. A corporate job, a steady paycheck, someone to check in with daily or someone to sign your timecard--this is not what makes "the real world," these are just things we may get stuck doing as adults. The real world is not built out of nice cars and Jimmy Choo shoes, despite the makings of a very fine appearance, almost enough to make one think that she could truly *find* the real world just by glancing into a department store window and choosing the correct outfit.

But the real world is what is created out of passion. Out of the moments you listen to that inner voice and trust it, even when it's telling you to step out of line from what the rest of your world, country, community, friends, or tribe is doing. It's trusting the very idea of a desire. It's putting all your eggs in one basket, running down a bumpy hill, and realizing it was the delicate eggs that helped you keep your balance.

Yesterday, as I sat in a graduation again and tried to keep my mind on the names of other students who were being called, I thought about our individual journeys on earth. Even when my heart was pounding as someone placed my brown graduate hood over my head and pushed me towards the stage. Even as I walked up the stairs holding the yellow index card that read: Master of Fine Arts and I realized I was the first graduate to walk across the stage for PLU's new MFA program. I tried to stay in the moment and yet I wanted to remember all I've gone through to find myself here.

And then after I crossed the stage, face forward, saying, Thank you, and returning to my chair, I knew the basket of eggs I had carried these last three years could be set down and that passion was more than the name of the toenail polish I chose the day and the lipstick shade I purchased three hours before the ceremony. Passion was what I needed to carry from this point on, not delicate dreams or the sense of direction of anyone else. Not a sweet disposition or anything else they can teach in charm school, what I needed to be in my real world was a passionate life. And it has always been found in three things for me: family, friends, and writing. So, I will continue to run down hills (barefoot) with the faith that if I fall, I will get up again and if I arrive with pockets of wildflowers, an open hand, and a poem, it will be then I will know I've succeeded.

Would you like me to seduce you? Is that what you're trying to tell me?

I went to the PLU grad fair to order my cap and gown-- for the MFA's we're in brown with a hood, sort of like the monks from Monty Python. I did not order a class ring nor any jewelry with the word "graduate." In the restaurant we heard "Mrs. Robinson," which of course made my husband comment about the movie.





I'm happy to be coming to the end of these 3 years in the Rainier Writers Program. I've forgotten what it's like to have homework in life, to constantly have "the next" deadline buzzing in my ear like a bothersome bee. But I know I will feel a loss after this. The program has filled my time like an overflowing goblet. It's had me reading poets and books I probably wouldn't have read-- Norman Dubie's first book, all of Shakespeare's sonnets and Helen Vendler's responses to them, Lorine Niedecker who is now one of my favorites. It also allowed me to work with poets I wouldn't have had the chance to work with.





MFA programs can get dirt thrown at them by the kids on the playground, but for me, this program helped me become a better writer. It gave my writing a sort of new validation that was getting lost as my role as a mom started to take over. It gave me focus for three years as well as discipline. Without the program, I would have never done The Making for Peace broadside series; it was my second year project. There are poems I wouldn't have written and basically all this for the cost of a $20,000 car, so one less Camry for me in life.





Do I think every poet/writers needs to get their MFA? No. Not at all. If you wanted to, you could basically create your own MFA program at home for yourself (and it would probably be a lot less financially)--find a mentor you want to work with, set deadlines, read books, go to writer's conferences, take classes, interact with other writers. Each person can become a better writer or poet with or without an MFA. A MFA guarantees nothing, each writers creates their own success, a piece of paper with three letters on it won't sit down at your computer and type out a poem.





Do MFA's help people become better writers? Yes & no. For me, it did. It definitely kicked my critical writing into gear. It helped my prose more than my poetry, but it did help some individual poems. But if you end up working with a professor who wants to change your style to his, and you let that happen, you may have to retrain yourself and find your voice once again. A friend of mine who works at an MFA program in this state said that of the 14 students who graduated with a MFA in 1992, only 2 of them were still writing creatively ten years later (note: this was a full time program and not a low-res program). She also was the one who told me about poets losing their own voice in an attempt to recreate the voice of their professor. I think most of these graduates where in their 20's though. My program has 20somethings, but also people in their 30's, 40's and 50's and I think when you've been writing for so long you're less likely to imitate others and less impressionable.






But maybe just the fact that as MFA students, we *have* to write a lot. It's required to graduate and maybe just the act of writing so many poems means we have more poems to find good poems in, or more opportunities to write a good poem. I think what makes people better writers is their own dedication to writing and to craft. Not being dedicated to getting published or making money. Not talking about writing and their past success, but writing, lots and lots of writing.

I'm not much for debate about MFA programs either you want to do it or not. No worries either way. You can have success and gold stars in your life with or without it. You don't get to wear the brown gown though, unless it's Halloween, or you've started a new life with chanting. And maybe there's an extra mid-size sedan in your life that won't be in mine. Either way, we're all in this together degrees or not, funny gowns or not, and by the way, "Camry" is an anagram for My Car.

"Mrs. Robinson, if you don't mind my saying so, this conversation is getting a little strange."