Focus on the Finish Line

The whole point of this blog thus far has been to document the journey that I experience as I go through graduate school. So far, my focus seems to be on how I'll make it to Athens in one piece.

Today, one of my good friends was kind enough to take me to Athens on her motorcycle. Without the tortuous feeling of my right leg trying to maintain a steady balance on the gas pedal (I have no cruise control) and the arduous focus on the road, I was able to let my mind wander and enjoy the scenery. The majority of the trip to Athens from Augusta takes place on the backroads through McDuffie, Wilkes, and Oglethorpe counties. When I drive, it's just a blur of trees and tiny towns. On the back on a motorcycle, you can spot the broken stone wall near Rayle, the broken down house hidden in the only trees left in a cleared out forest and the plethora of different smells that would be otherwise filtered by air conditioning.

My mind traveled from thought to thought seamlessly. Then I began to think about the saying, "It's about the journey not the destination."

The actual journey that I have been making each day to class seems to taking up most of my mental and physical energy. So, maybe, just maybe, it's not so much about the journey for me. I'm sure in the grand scheme of things it is, but not for July 2012. Even with that, I can't wrap my head around the fact that I will be spending the foreseeable future working towards becoming a Classicist and maybe/hopefully/definitely an archaeologist.  All I see is the finish line.

It's like when I run. On an actual course, as opposed to a treadmill, most of the time I'm focusing on each mile number that I can subtract from 3.1 or 6.2. I'm not stopping to smell the flowers. When I'm running on the treadmill, I have to keep my glances upwards so I won't see how far I have gone or have to go, otherwise I'll slow down or stop.

Perhaps the strain of driving 4 hours a day is meant to make me focus more on that academic finish line, help me adapt to the blisters, bruises and pain that is bound to face me no matter what decision I make.

I think we had just crossed into Columbia or McDuffie county, when I had a "Real Jillian" moment. The veneer of emotional and internal chaos faded away and my real voice said "Why would you ever let something like that try to break you. Find a way to get through this."