I looked at M.Mus. programs today in the New York area. I was getting all shaky and nervous just reading the audition requirements and course offerings. I worry, often, that it's too late for me to do this. I don't really know what size the pool will be if I decide to jump into it. Obviously, it will be bigger than Wesleyan's. I feel like I'm doing fine here; I know that I can write, I know that I can sing. The BJRO performance in May was definitely a confidence booster. Still, it's hard for me to accept that I just might have the potential to excel professionally, and not just amateurely.

I sent emails out to some favorite faculty members about changing my thesis. Maybe being home has just made me lazy (that's my irrational rationale right now), but I don't know if I'll be able to write for a full year on my original topic. I'm so tempted to do some sort of community research project, or work within the New York area, and write about early 20th century American musics. Unfortunately, the key professor who could help me make this switch replied today and told me that she already has advisees, but would accommodate me any way she could, which is at once discouraging and heartening. Should I take this lack of resources (i.e. advisor) as a hint that it really is too late for me to do what I want with the time I've got left at Wesleyan? What about the years immediately after graduation next spring? Can I do what I want, ever? Can anyone?

I know I'm being irrational. But I'm frustrated, I feel more lost than ever before, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to do work of any kind. On the phone with a friend last night, I described an evening I had spent at La Boca with Rob. Rob had asked me what I wanted to do after graduation (he is a music major, jazz pianist as well), and I quickly computed the choices I had as far as responses to his query:

1. Admit that I love music, but that it's a silly idea for little ol' me. After all, Rob is the music major. He's confident about throwing himself into music. I'm not. Hence, he's getting better, faster. Here, I can take the bashful route. Tell him I think it's already too late, but you know, it's still kind of fun to play and sing. It'll be a nice hobby or something. Eh.

2. Impress Rob with something he knows nothing about, i.e. my government major and my prestigious plans to attend a top law school or graduate poli sci program, eventually live in Manhattan and go out to drinks on my nights off to hear him struggling to play at some dive somewhere. Take that!

I ultimately chose a combination of the two: Admit the truth about what I love, blush and a gaze downward, then look up at him to re-address the question with confidence and a quick rant about everything that I know about development economics so that I can feel like I've been doing something for the last three years.

In reply, Rob laughed and joked that he was considering law school, too. Gotta love that kid.

So, oh lovely readers out there, I know that I've gotten past the denial stage of this laborious process called Figuring Out Amy's Life. I'm about to verge on its ("its" being, well, Amy's Life) actualization, but now I'm worried that the progress and confidence I've earned at Wesleyan are just fluffy undergraduate sentiments.

Being home doesn't help, because all I have to do is open the paper and read about what my fellow Monterey Jazz Festival program alumni are doing at USC, Berklee, in studios, on the road, at special programs, etc. etc. I grew up in a pretty damn big pond, which is why, despite Gene's pleading, I decided not to study music in the first place. Guh.

In summary, I'm already having regret about the present as if it's already in the past, and loathing my future as if it's already the present. If that makes any sense.

Why can't I just post about cute things like sunsets and MY 21ST BIRTHDAY, WHICH IS... TOMORROW?!?!?! HOLY SHIT!!! I'M GETTING FUCKING OLD!!! I KEEP FORGETTING!!!  ¶ 19:55