1. Grad school is so strange. I’ve laughed, I’ve cried, I’ve had 13 cups of coffee in a 24-hour timeframe all in
the past year and a half. I don’t know how any of you undergraduate students juggle having a job, going to
school and living in this super intense city for years on end. Here is a ridiculous recap of my attempt at
doing so.
I love Boston… even though I’m pretty sure it hates me back. I vividly remember one of my first weeks
here. En route to work, I got off the bus near Dawes Island in Harvard Square. I stopped to put something
in my bag, and all of a sudden, a random man ran toward me, tackled me to the ground and then got up and
yelled, “THAT’S NOT MY FAULT! THAT’S NOT MY FAULT!” He then proceeded to run away. OH
OKAY. BYE SIR. Then I had to waddle to work and bake the homemade toppings for the froyo. This
could have been the night I later dropped the brownie batter in my workplace basement, then resembled a
Jackson Pollock painting. I never said I was good in a kitchen. My mom thought none of this was funny.
Puzzling.
Another one of my first weeks in Boston, I attended my evening research class one fateful Monday. During
the class, we reviewed search engines and how they served beneficial purposes. My professor (who once
casually won a Pulitzer) asked for search terms. I guess I blanked out or lost any small shred of sanity I
hold in my brain, because I exclaimed, “RIHANNA.” Or more like yelled. Yelled the name of the pop-star
perfection in front of my entire class of intelligent graduate students and my Pulitzer-winning professor…
in response to a question about like, sponges or school data or something. So let this be a comfort to
anyone: if they are still letting me graduate after that, you can get through this week, girl.
Graduate school has come chock-full of lessons. In my opinion, the first and most imperative lesson: sleep
should be your number one priority. Your friend is in town and she wants to check out the sights? Make her
some soup and then tell her that it’s naptime. Hot date? No. You have no time for romance. The bags under
your eyes will date you. Former U.S. President George W. Bush invited you to one of those parties where
he paints the murals of the puppies? No. Sleep. If you’re like me, your lack of sleep will catch up with you,
and it will actually make you Kevin Spacey “House of Cards” crazy. Also, you should really Google
“George W. Bush paints dogs.” It’s really important.
Also, I learned that life is going to be a long series of me encountering people who really don’t like me.
Sometimes, I walk into a room, and I’m like, “Hmmm, I sense the fact that you don’t like the whole me
breathing/existing thing I’m doing here right now.” So then I go get a sandwich or something.
I had already learned the whole “people are going to hate you” lesson through my experience as a resident
assistant at my undergrad. I try not to get super down about it and/or let it launch me into a psychosis. I
think I’ve grown from the time I called my mom one night after hearing what sounded like scratching at my
door, exclaiming “Mom, they (my residents) are trying to kill me. I just know it.”

2. During graduate school, I promise that I also learned a lot about journalism, too! They even took us to The
Boston Globe offices once, and I almost chained myself to a cubicle in the hopes that they’d feel so bad for
me that they’d offer me a job. Hey pals, hire me.
During my time here, my professors have once again reaffirmed the idea that if you can get a teacher to
believe that you have some shred of talent, you have earned the world. So thank you. Props to my mom too,
who has had to deal with me crying… and crying… and crying… for almost six years of higher education.
Props to her dealing for with me for the past 23 years. Sainthood awaits.
Oh and one last thing. Coffee. Anyone who has had the misfortune of hearing me speak knows that I love
coffee. However, that stuff can really hit you like a bus. Last year, I remember sitting in the Boston
University library, typing what felt like 200 words per minute, essentially rocking back and forth thinking,
“Wow, learning is great. I can do grad school. I love learning. I love education. I love anything. Anything is
possible.” Then, about 40 minutes later, I kind of found myself face down in a cubicle. So, beware.
Studying journalism, writing a column, it’s all led me to where I can say I got to live a dream. I’m a lucky
ducky (who apparently talks like your grandmother). In all seriousness, at the end of the day, I’m just
grateful anyone gave me a chance.