Systems & Identity
When I started graduate school, Lucas was seriously contemplating his retirement from his rodeo career as a bullfighter. Though I was secretly hopeful he was just going through a phase and would ultimately realize he had a few more years ahead of him; I made the commitment to miss as little of what could have been his final season, just in case.
Logistically, this commitment was much easier said than done. I had four mandatory night classes a week and attendance was held in high regard for my program. This often required Lucas to hitch a ride with someone en route to his rodeo in the middle of a given week. Then, when my night class adjourned on Thursday evening at 8pm, I would drive our truck and camper through the night to whichever state I needed to travel to at the time. Wisconsin, Kansas, Iowa, Nebraska, Minnesota. Whichever it may be. We would then drive home on Sunday, or sometimes even Monday, to make it back to my first afternoon course in time. While this probably sounds intense and a bit miserable for some, it was one of the best summers of rodeo we ever had. I’ve always loved watching us support each other in our dreams, especially when they didn’t make sense to most, and these were not moments I was willing to sacrifice in our story.
As summer came to a close and fall began to show its face, Lucas was feeling more settled than ever on his decision to retire. I, on the other hand, was still very much on the fence with the entire decision and was hoping an open door might present itself to convince him otherwise.
Then, a door opened.
One Monday afternoon, Lucas received an unexpected invitation to work a CBR (an elite bullriding association at the time) in Laughlin, NV that upcoming weekend. They needed someone to fill in, and it was a two-performance event. Initially, Lucas informed the man that he didn’t think he could make it work; thinking he didn’t want to manage that particular drive alone, and knowing my school schedule wouldn’t allow us to leave when we needed to- but I was ALL IN on this one.
As a 23-year-old adult person I made the decision to skip school, without notice, for the first time in my entire life. I didn’t check in with my professors, I didn’t ask about assignments, I signed out of my e-mail, and I made the choice to be completely present for this opportunity. We even decided to leave a day early to see one of our dear friends get married along the way. It was still, to this day, one of the best weekends of memories and adventures for that season of our life. He fought great, and even got asked to fight a second event the next month, and though he accepted that opportunity, it was on our drive home from Laughlin, NV that he told me with 100% certainty that he was ready to move onto the next chapter of our life. It was bittersweet, yet absolutely perfect, and for the first time the decision felt entirely peaceful for me too.
As we were driving back on Monday morning, I crawled in the camper to rest up for class later that day. When I woke from my nap, I decided to re-engage with reality and log back into my e-mail to endure the consequences of my unannounced 5-day sabbatical. While I expected a mention or two regarding my absence, I was very sure the future of my graduate education could endure a few days of being placed on the back burner, yet to my utter surprise; that would not prove to be an accurate assumption.
As I opened my inbox, I discovered an e-mail entitled something to the effect of DISCIPLINARY ACTION: IVY LITTLES. The enclosed message would go on to inform me that I had missed the deadline (Friday afternoon at 12 pm) to submit my documentation for graduation, and I was therefore ineligible at that current juncture to receive a Graduation Certificate for a Master of Social Work degree from Missouri State University. In order to reinstate my eligibility, I would now have to present myself before a board of elite members of the graduate college. That team of individuals would then conduct a formal evaluation to determine my readiness for becoming a functional member of their esteemed profession. (To make a long story even longer: I didn’t turn in a consent form on time. The paper did not entail information that might lend to my knowledge of the degree. It was a standardized form of moral commitment that required a single signature, and that action was what got Ivy sent to the principal’s office for the first time in her entire life.)
Part II of this blog will come at a later date, but this moment in itself gifted me an invaluable lesson learned: The systems of the ‘real world’ are NOT qualified to determine my priorities. Though they claim to have a source of identity to offer me, they are all too preoccupied with the things I am doing to meet their list of arbitrary standards that they neglect to take notice of who I am becoming. In spite of all the hoops I have jumped through in my education or profession, the credit of my worth to these entities continues to lie in the hoops I have set before me. Insinuating that the stability of my identity lies in the future, and it was on our drive home from Laughlin, NV that I realized with 100% certainty that that was a lie I could no longer afford to believe.