I was reviewing the brief bios of a group of us going on this trip in May, and they all had higher degrees (MDs, mostly) except for me. It made me realize that it’s been 4 years since I graduated from school- plenty of time to get some kind of additional credential, if that was what one wanted. I don’t have one. I have a resume stuffed with productions and a passport, at least within the US, busy with travel.

Still, I’m starting to feel like I might be able to give 2 or 3 years of my life to a graduate program, and enjoy it – like some of the wanderlust is out of my system. But I have a feeling that’s another 2-3 years off, too. And if I were to do it, it would be in writing, not directing, for the simple reason that writing is the field in which I’d want to teach.

I can really imagine myself teaching poetry, or playwriting, or some kind of combination director-playwright collaboration course. I was even thinking it might be fun to teach principles of drama in a performance art class for visual artists.

This is probably five years off, because it seems so settled to me. Sitting down in a classroom. Opening a book. Writing in a notebook. Wouldn’t that mean I couldn’t be in a different state every month? That’s a problem!

I was reading therapy workshop proposals for my day job yesterday, and one of them was about the subject of home as an appropriate subject for therapy – that locations have the same emotional resonance with us that people do. Well, of course they do. But to see it like that, popping out of my Windows-addled work computer, shook me up a bit.

I suppose in one sense, this year has been about redefining my relationship to the concepts of home and location.