It’s May 4 (Happy Star Wars Day!) and I am in a bit of shock. Not because anything horrible has happened, but because 1) we are almost halfway through 2026 and that’s more than a little unbelievable, and 2) so much has happened already this year, it feels like my life will be unrecognizable by December. I’ve basically completed my third master’s degree, which means I am completely through with school for the time being. (A PhD is still something I hope to achieve, but it’s not something I can afford, so unless I really start to make money with my writing, it’s a dream that’s going to be tucked away on a shelf for now.)

I am done with school.

It feels surreal to say that. My college education began in 2014, and I’ve been consistently in college since then. That’s 12 years of education (with about 1 year in between my B.A. and M.F.A. and about 1 year between my M.A. and my M.S.), essentially: two years for my associate’s in English with a concentration in Creative Writing; two years for my bachelor’s in English literature and Writing with a concentration in Creative Writing; two years for my master’s in fine arts with a focus in Poetry; two years for my master’s in Literature with an emphasis on 19th century British women writers, and two years for my master’s of science in Professional Writing with a focus on environmental journalism/science writing.

I never imagined I would have an education like the one I’ve achieved. Throughout this journey, I have surprised myself time and time again, proving not only my determination and discipline, but also my intelligence and ability to learn. Until I started college in 2014, I never thought I was particularly smart. I had a lot of insecurity around my ability to do well in school since I struggled a lot when I was in grade school. Being essentially a straight A student throughout the entirety of my college education has allowed me to prove myself, even in classes that I thought would bury me (namely math and computer science). Yet, I pulled out As in all of those, too.

My self-esteem has grown exponentially since starting college back in 2014, and it’s this growth, this new way of seeing myself that’s afforded me the confidence to make my life what I want to be, and to believe in myself enough to do it.

I’m stepping into a transitional period, and it’s one that has filled me with excitement. I don’t know what exactly is in store for me in the coming months, but I know what I want, and I know how I’m going to get it. It’s hard to describe, this excitement and confidence, because they’re more than just that. They’re also focus and determination and planning. They’re time management and budgeting and working harder than I’ve ever worked before. They’re also self-love and rest and listening to my body and my mind and giving myself what I need.

I have a lot of free time back now that I’m almost done with school, and I intend to divide that time between all the things I love most: writing, reading, hiking, resting, self-growth and healing, investing in friendships and relationships, and overall turning my life into exactly what I want it to be.

One of my faculty mentors in my M.F.A. program is a poet and nonfiction writer named Vi Khi Nao. She is the most prolific writer I’ve ever known personally. She currently has 35 books published that she either wrote on her own or collaborated on. I have never known anyone who writes as much as she does. (And really, you should check out her work! She’s a cross-genre writer and her work is absolutely incredible! Vi Khi Nao’s Books) Her passion and dedication to her writing is unmatched. She writes more than anyone I’ve ever known, and it’s from her that I want to model my own creative practice. Now that I have completed my education and can say with confidence that I am ready to embark on the true journey of being a prolific writer, I’m taking my queue from her.

Because here’s the thing: for some people, writing and creativity are hobbies, and there’s nothing wrong with that. For others it’s their business, their part-or full-time job, and there’s nothing wrong with that, either. For others still, it’s both, spreading across both the professional and hobby sectors of life. That’s also perfectly okay.

But for some, writing is more than a hobby or a profession. For some, writing is literally life; not in the sense that we’d actually die if we didn’t get to write, but there would be no point in living. For some–and I count myself among them–writing is a calling, a purpose, the thing that gives our lives meaning and shape and color. For some of us, writing prolifically isn’t about writing the most for the sake of saying we did; it’s about taking everything we see, think, feel, experience, want, hope for, and have lost and transposing it onto the page so that it can take on an existence of its own. For some of us, it doesn’t matter how hard it is or how exhausted we are or how little time we have, writing is too important to let go of, even temporarily.

That’s what I want to fill my life with now. I’ve grown as a writer in ways I never thought possible. And now I’m going to let my work breathe, exist, and shine. It’s a new day and I’m going to make the most of it.

Love and light.