Smart

No one gets it like you do!

Luis Alberto Saldaña, Untitled, 2019

I am satisfied with the way we summered; we drove through green pastures to buy summer blooms that are now riddled with powdery mildew, we drank too many piña coladas that gave me two-day hangovers, we swam in violent oceans that ripped off my bikini top and had me fishing out seaweed from my hair for days. I ate mofongo and mallorcas and lots of bistec with an egregious amount of onions. I love eating more than usual, I am hungrier during summer. I am satiated and tan and there are pit stains on my tank tops. 

But now I’ve started grad school. I have definitely lost brain cells from all the summering I did but I am resisting that. It has definitely been hard to construct an everyday sentence and send an everyday email but I am powering through. It’s because I am in grad school now. No matter what I say or what I type it will all make sense. Yesterday I told my husband that the writing department at grad school sits directly across from the philosophy department. That definitely means something grand and philosophical and deep. Since I am in grad school now, everything is riddled with meaning and purpose. 

“I haven’t eaten all day,” my husband says when he gets home, slightly irritated but actively trying to repress it.

“It’s important to eat a big breakfast and fill your pockets with snacks,” I said. 

“Fill my pockets with snacks?” He says.

“Yes. An apple or a protein bar or some cashews.” I say, with confidence and panache. 

“...Okay.” He says. I feel as though he is trying to evade my sense of know-it-all attitude but I ignore it. 

“And since you’re sitting at a desk all day, it’s important to stand and stretch your legs every hour. Can you start setting a timer on your phone? Can you request a standing desk from your IT Department?” I ask.

“That’s a good idea,” he said. “I should…”

“And when you are stretching your legs, that could be a good time to fill up your Yeti and eat some cashews. Only when you are satiated and hydrated is when you can be the most productive. Look how frustrated you are because you are hungry, look how that could’ve taken away from producing precious work,” I tell him.

My husband tries to register what kind of attitude I have taken on, his eyebrows are scrunched, but he continues to heat up the leftover ground beef and rice for his dinner.

“I don’t even have a yeti,” he decides to tell me. 

“You know, there was a girl in class yesterday that got so consumed with the Taylor Swift engagement announcement that she was restless and distracted the whole time in the lecture. She probably didn't eat a proper breakfast and struggles with a dopamine addiction from her screen time.” 

“Is that the girl who is dating Travis Kelce?” he asks.

“Well yea but they're not just dating anymore, they’re engaged. Are you even listening?” I say.

“Yes. I hear you talking about someone else not eating breakfast and struggling with a phone addiction, is that right?”

“Sure is.”

“Because you definitely eat breakfast every morning and don’t struggle with a phone addiction.” 

“Sure don’t.”

I can see my husband has finished his meal, he’s done washing his dish in front of the sink. It is dark outside which means he is probably eager to get to bed, as he puts in a 12 hour work day most days. In my purview I see him walking out of the kitchen, seemingly moving on with his life, desperate to put this self indulgent conversation to bed, but I pull him back in with another comment. I can do things like this now, because I am in grad school.

“Here’s what I need you to do for me, okay?” I impulsively say.

“Okay?” he responds, as he turns his body slightly, about 45 degrees, unsure whether he wants to fully commit to whatever is coming next. 

“It’s important to have rituals. A little yoga, a little morning pages, a little walk around the block. Do you understand what I’m saying? I don’t see you practicing any rituals and I see you lost in this journey of life.” 

“Actually, I…”

“Okay you know what? I’ll just come out and say it. I got into grad school for a reason, okay? Things just click for me. It’s important I share my perspectives with you, for your own sake. Things will start falling into place for you, like they are for me. You just have to open up those ears and appreciate all the advice I’m giving you.”

I can see my husband taking off his glasses and rubbing his face. I can’t tell whether he is rolling his eyes at my self centered proclamations or teary eyed because he is witnessing someone so graceful and well-rounded. He will likely rest easy and peacefully tonight, probably so happy he chose me, because I am in grad school now, studying right across the philosophy department, no less.

***

The thing about starting grad school at 38 years old is, everyone around you is incredibly young. Like, aggressively young. Like, I had to overhear a conversation yesterday between a group of young ladies not having to worry about opting for health insurance because they can be on their parents’ for a few more years. They are much better than me, though. At their age I wasn’t even thinking about health insurance. When I was their age my efforts were strictly focused on shopping at Wet Seal with my hard-earned barista money and deciding which club I was going to with my friends on Thursday night because on Thursday nights ladies drink for free. I no longer needed a fake I.D., my paychecks from Starbucks funded my fuck-ass lifestyle. Writing couldn’t be further from my mind. Life was good. Life was simple. 

So now, in grad school, I need to determine which of my peers are worth befriending. I noticed young people make friends incredibly fast, almost instantaneous. Whereas it could take me as long as 4 years to ask for someone’s phone number. I need to reassess this process since I’m only in a 2 year program.

But the day showed glimmers of hope. After lunch yesterday, a young lady in my concentration said she loved reading a popular divorce memoir that came out this year because it helped her get over her ex-boyfriend. She quoted a few lines from the memoir, which I appreciated, bc God knows I love a good sentence about the defects of men. 

“He was a little bitch anyways,” she said, defiantly. 

We both cackled like witches at this, I even raised the tone of my laugh so I could sound higher pitched and jolly like hers was. Then we tried to open up the doors to the building where our class was being held, but the doors were locked. So we were seen pulling and pulling and exerting so much effort to get these double doors to open with zero success. Then someone came up behind us and scanned his ID on the scanner next to the doors and then they opened seamlessly. He walked right by us like we weren’t even there, like we were invisible little ghosts with high pitched voices. I noticed how ominous looking he was: wearing a black t-shirt with moto boots, unruly hair and unshaven. Damn, I thought to myself, Grad school looks good on him and he knows it.

“He’s probably a second year,” I tell my new friend, the one who’s glad she's not dating a little bitch anymore.

“I know he’s sweating like a beast in those boots,” she says, and we share another laugh, this time a little more like a subdued giggle.

***

Something tells me you’re not very impressed with me. Maybe at this point I am becoming a bit combative. I live in a town where people join clubs to swim in pools and attending IVY leagues is the same as saying you eat two scrambled eggs for breakfast. My parents are Cuban, my dad never learned how to spell. Being raised with a scarcity mindset can be tough when you live in a town with so much indulgence all around you. Opportunities always felt like they were meant for other people, not for us.

So, to be honest, going to grad school feels like a very indulgent choice. There are real risks now; writing can no longer be fun now that I’ve decided to make a career out of it. Also, as I continue to immerse myself in this craft, it can reveal that I may not be the writer I thought I was. When you’re surrounded with over 100 writers in a casual setting, you realize everyone is fighting to be seen, in one way or another. 

But don’t worry! Now I have leverage. I can give free life advice to my husband, who desperately needs my help and definitely needs to get it together. I still have lots of time to trauma-dump to my peers for the next 2 years so I can also think of grad school as over-priced therapy. Maybe the only real risk is not indulging in this life at all. Maybe if my new friend heard my rant she’d call me a little bitch.

It feels good to be satiated, I deserve to feel full.