College… meh

I hopped on my bike, bundled up against the cold morning with my art supplies in tow to paint my commissioned mural at Ball State. I pass by students and faculty bustling to class to finish the final days of school before their winter break.  There’s a feeling of camaraderie through the brisk air with our matched intent and backpacks. I feel a part of, akin in this drudgery of school, but also a stranger to this environment. 

I never did this part of life, attend a university. Promptly after graduating high school, I entered the workforce obtaining crappy job after crappy job. I was a poor high school student and honestly always thought of myself as incapable of earning an advanced degree. Sure, I did end up attending a community college earning my associates but I was 30 and there was no college experience to be had there.

I had intentions in high school and looked into a few art school. Paralyzed by the application process, I didn’t go much further than interviews. I just couldn’t image myself attending classes, being in a new city alone or being successful in any way. For a long time I carried around, like a little gem, the tentative acceptance to a few of these schools as well as promised scholarships. I wanted to be brave and be one of those “cool kids” that went to an art school but I just didn’t have it in me.

For most of my life, I have felt shame around this fact. In my eyes it had marked me as less than or dumber than my more educated peers; no matter their degree of study. I assumed that my failure to further my education had landed me in my blue collar job with a substandard income. I had chickened out and missed this crucial part of life for which I would suffer and that I regret forever.

Ultimately though, something switched in my brain over the past few years to completely flip this on it’s head. I have come to understand that I was not dumb but rather when children aren’t safe they struggle in school. This knowledge helped me to challenge my father’s constant name calling and belittling around my intelligence. I started to view my various career successes not as a fluke or some imposter syndrome but as proof that I am capable. 

Overtime, I had begun to see my lack of traditional education as a super power. I posses some serious hustle and grit which landed me jobs like conference circuit presenter, grant writer and an addictions counselor. I have built programs and systems in the fields of chemical dependency, fire/rescue and my current field of critical care. All of those endeavors were forged through my tenacity to learn and my intellectual prowess. 

The world still runs on the agreement that a piece of paper, no matter what that paper says, equals higher qualifications. Do I need a piece of paper to say that I am a qualified artist or know what I am doing? Here’s a little secret, no one really knows what they are doing in art. We are feeling our way through it, always. Sure, I would love to have taken color theory but I know many artist that took that class and still use flip charts when composing work. 

College is a great place to grow up, make friends and experience life. I don’t look down on those who have or are currently attending college to pursue their passions. I feel great empathy for friends that are still paying on their large loans or find that their education didn’t serve them as well as they thought it would. There’s just so many other ways to experience and spend this one precious life. 

Riding my bike to school, feeling my connected separateness, I am proud that I didn’t pay the money for my education. I learned by doing, observing, mimicking, succeeding and most importantly failing. Now, along with my peers, I am a constant consumer of knowledge but I may have a little extra hard earned hustle.