In my long and tortured quest for an advanced degree in English, I am taking yet another night class, this one called "Current Issues in Writing." I haven't even gotten my textbook yet (curse ye, Amazon!), so I'm not sure exactly what form the class will take, but I do know that I will once again venture into the frozen wasteland and drive for nearly an hour in search of the knowledge that will bring me closer to the goal: a master's degree. I am assured that when I earn that, everyone will call me Master. :)
There is something paradoxical about going to evening classes. On the one hand, I dread them all week because they throw off my normal schedule and force me to get off of my behind (and away from my leisure activities) and they last for three butt-numbing hours at a time.
On the other hand, what I learn there is always, always fascinating, and I come home energized.
I won't even begin to philosophize about the crazy expense of higher learning and the inherent injustices in that system, but I will say that somehow, somehow, I've managed to get almost to the finish line and that I look forward to working, next year, on my final thesis.
I started this mission in 2005, so it's been a long haul. But it has made me appreciate the value of the quest and the nobility of the personal journey.