Saturday was my first yoga class in 9 days. It’s the longest stretch I’ve gone without taking a yoga class since I started last June. During the winter storm, when I was stuck in the house for 5 days straight, I only practiced yoga once for an hour. For me, attending class is key to a consistent practice. I’m hoping this week I’ll be back to my 4-class per week routine.
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I don’t know whether it’s the lasting effects of cabin fever, the beginning of the next decade, or a friend’s application process, but I find myself once again considering a masters in creative writing. Those several days I spent cocooned in my house, I thought about these two competing forces–
1.) If I love writing, why not consider graduate school so I can become better at it?
2.) What’s the point of grad school if I can’t make money/get a job afterward?
I don’t know the answers to these questions, but the cost-benefit analysis gets poor results. For a low residency program M.F.A. program, I’d have to spend close to $35,000. As a writer or as a teacher of creative writing (given that there are virtually no full time jobs in the field), I don’t think I could make $35,000 in my entire lifetime. So if I did go to grad school, it would have to be with the purest of intentions — to make myself a better writer– not to get a decent paying job. And I’d have to know that I’d never see a penny of a return on my tuition/fees.
Sobering, isn’t it? Still, it’s fun to think about.