It’s been three months since my last blog post, which is far too long.
Much has happened during those 90-some days. I have completed yet another term at Oregon State, and now sit only two summer courses away from completing my Bachelor’s degree. I have been accepted into Oregon State’s low-residency MFA program (contingent upon my graduation of course), and look forward to beginning that in the fall.
My Marine Corps career has come to a close, as I have decided to focus on raising my son rather than worry about having to leave him constantly with various military obligations. This also frees me up to write a bit more, which seems to be an essential habit for writers to have.
My son has had his first birthday, eaten the cake, and is now 13 months old. He walks very well, skilled enough that he can pirouette when I go to pick him up, spinning away from me and running drunkenly in the other direction. We (myself, my wife, and my son) have just started swimming lessons. Other than the screams of preservation let loose by some of the other children in the group, the lessons have proven to be enjoyable.
The reading that I have done since my last post (around 15-20 novels) consists entirely of school-mandated books, but some of them have been quite enjoyable. For the first time, I read F. Scott Fitzgerald’s classic, The Great Gatsby. With my undergraduate studies nearly over and the MFA program swiftly approaching, I feel a bit like Gatsby himself. While Fitzgerald’s titular character is first seen on his balcony staring across the bay at a green light, it seems that I also spend time looking ahead to the adventure of an MFA program that I know very little about.
The question is, will the next few years propel me to greater heights? Or will my fate be similar to Gatsby’s, just a bloodied body stiff in the grass; the burden of potential left unfulfilled? Only one way to find out, I guess.