Funny thing happens when you leave your bubble — you meet people.

Technically, I didn't even leave my bubble. I was sitting on a concrete slab on campus when a gentleman approached me. He was tall, well spoken, and confident, and politely introduced himself to my friend and me, as well as apologized for interrupting our conversation.

What I like most was the fact that he wasn't NYC-coiffed — you know, too well groomed as to reflect a bit of self-centeredness. That kind of primping always turns me off.

During our brief conversation, I learned that he is in the process of completing his MFA, which also leant itself to his disheveled appearance. I can appreciate that, as there are days where there is room to doubt — based on my appearance — that I am a member of a civilized species.

Long story short, I gave him a card with my number and email address. I figured what the hell, he represented himself so well that I would be a fool not to at least check things out.

I suppose now that things are beginning to wind down, that I may be slightly more relaxed than I have been in months past, which in turn makes it easier for people to approach me.

While I am not completely in the clear — I still have finals to get through, a job to find and I still have to move, it may be time to start branching out.

I submitted my resume for my first potential post-graduation job. I am trying to keep from getting too excited about it, as I don't want to get my hopes up in the event that I don't get it.

I know what you're thinking, and believe me, I am thinking the same thing: Why on earth am I looking at it from that angle? Why am I selling myself short? Why am I not being more optimistic?

As much as I wish I did, I do not have the answer to that question, other than to say that if this were a position I didn't care so much about, or feel such a strong attraction to; I wouldn't feel the need to protect my feelings so much.

Jobs, relationships, classes — funny how it doesn't matter what the case, the behavior is the same — self-preservation, isolation, desensitization. Go through life wearing your best game face.

Self-preservation is a bitch.

I wish it weren't so necessary to insulate one's self to the point where it almost seems as if we have to deny that very thing that makes us human.

I have to remind myself, that this is not the only job I will go for, and that this is not the only job that will resonate so deeply within me. As with so many other things in life, there are plenty of fish in the sea.

It's a good thing I like fishing.

My friend Lori — the coordinator of the Wit program in California, called me after the program's luncheon a few days ago. She told me that the letter I wrote really tied into the afternoon well, and that those in attendance enjoyed it immensely.

Here are the highlights of the letter I submitted — very good things to keep in mind — for me and for everyone:

I remember that my life as it stands is of my choosing, and that I would have it no other way.

Losing yourself while (ironically) trying to find yourself is a very real possibility. It is easy to get wrapped up in "the process" to the point where you forget why you've even set out in the first place.

These are the times when is it absolutely necessary to take a step away from things, close your eyes, breathe and reconnect with your inner self — you know, that thing that gets tucked away in the back of your mind and taken for granted whenever there's some obnoxiously prevalent matter to attend to.

Hold on to your core, to your convictions, your integrity, your humility. Never lose sight of your reasons for doing what you do, and never allow someone to question who you are to the point where you begin to question yourself. Holding on to these principles will at least give you a place to retreat to at the end of the day.

Turns out I had no problems finding my words at all.

Now that I have turned in my thesis, I rather miss it.

Yes, I am a masochist.

There is something to be said about the level of discomfort experienced at various times in a person's life — it reminds you that you are in fact, alive.

Honestly, I think it has more to do with the fact that the process of writing, which has helped me to figure out where my niche lies, and what avenue might mead to a fulfilling and stimulating career path. I love theory, research, data and network analysis, and writing.

I am a nerd. Let's move on.

Though this last year has been stressful because of this process, it has helped me learn about myself, and my limits. It has also given me an insight to what it really means to be dedicated to a career that you love — more than for the sake of it paying your rent. I am very grateful to the process, and to the people that helped me navigate through the tough times.

I also came to realize that it was not the thesis that had me wrapped as much as it was that I had to deal with the other things in life that monopolized my time.

But that's — unfortunately — what life is about. We all have to learn to deal with everything that our lives encompass, whether we want to or not. It's not always about doing what we love — we have to deal with it all.

Funny thing about not having time to think about the rest of your life: that's usually when you can't keep those thoughts from invading your brain.

I am sitting in my peapod of an apartment, trying feverishly to finish all of my assignments, and feeling quite giddy about the fact that next weekend seems rather non-committal. By the end of the week, the thesis will be no more, and there will be just one more paper and two finals to go.

For the most part, this week is all that stands between me and guilt-free napping and cable television. Problem is, my ADD won't let me focus on getting my work done.

My mind is plagued with thoughts of life on the other side. What does one do with gratuitous amount of free time? I know for a fact that I don't handle copious amounts of unscheduled time well. Most of the silly things I have done in life have come because I had more free time than I knew what to do with.

Ironically, I can't wait to see what kind of trouble I can get myself into. Humans make mistakes, after all, and this school business has left me with very little time to be human. I am ready for a change of pace...

A friend and mentor has invited me to address the current members of an organization I was affiliated with while attending school in California. The program, WIT: Women In Transition, caters to women who, for whatever reason, are returning to school after an extended absence. Unfortunately, I cannot make it, as it is the same week as "Hell Week" — the last week of classes. 

I still have an opportunity to participate via a letter to be read during the program. I relish in the opportunity to do this. Problem is, what do I say? 

I want it to be inspirational without being too sappy, and informative without being scary as hell. It's hard to find a balance for your words when your life has no balance. 

The good thing about a group like this is that they completely understand what that means. I remember three years ago, as a member of the program, swapping stories with other members and relishing in the fact that we were able to share in each other's triumphs over adversity and lend moral support as needed.

I have no idea what I am going to say in my letter, but in reminiscing about my days in the program, I have inspired myself to somehow push on, through that last week of classes, and into a future of unknowns — and to be completely content with it all. 

I am not my thesis, nor am I the personification of any committee or program I am involved with, and as hard as it may be for me to believe, I am not a cornerstone of the institution with which I am presently affiliated.

This may all sound silly, but I had to be reminded of this today. Good thing, too, as I was on the verge of another category IV panic attack.

With the threat of the end of the academic year looming ever closer, and the workload showing no sign that it cares to adhere to this time restraint, I found myself obsessing — yet again with the fact that things are not lining up as neatly as I managed to fool-heartedly convince myself that they are supposed to.

What's a girl to do?

In a word: disassociate.

My friend Chad, with whom I share many common traits, told me the best thing to do right now is to take emotion out of work. The thesis is just a paper — albeit a very long one. It is not a measure of me as a person. In 31 days, it will go from being the thing that consumed me for nine months to that thing keeping water rings off my coffee table.

Okay, maybe not that severe, but close. His point was that I need to get through the mire as best I can — focus on keeping the wheels turning efficiently and removing emotion from the process. While this approach may not work for everything, it will certainly get me through the end of the semester.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008, 7:30 p.m. — After a few too many cups of coffee, I have filed my taxes. Never before have I gotten so close to the deadline. After weighing my options, I decided I would rather have a last-minute file-fest with Uncle Sam than to go to my research seminar professor with no paper in hand.

Ah, student life.

That day was a continuation of last weekend as far as life in the super-fast lane is concerned. Once again, I played it fast and loose with my blood sugar, going much too long between meals. If my mom reads this she will have my hide when she visits next month, but the day had me shuffling too many things that too many people place way too much emphasis on. I'm sure there is a line of unsatisfied customers somewhere. I can't be concerned with that.

All in all, I am happy with the way things turned out. I did not let other people stress me out, I prioritized the way I thought necessary, and bonus — everything got done.  Now, if I can manage to keep down the dinner I waited too long to eat, it will truly be a banner day.

The moral of the story: Do the things you deem most necessary first, make sure you understand the consequences of all your actions, and most importantly, pack some protein in your bag for those days you spend on the go.

Last weekend was a busy one. Friday and Saturday were jam-packed with events — so much so, that for those two days I started moving very early and didn't stop until very late. I loved every minute of it, but would enjoyed it more if one thing was not right on top of the other.

The entire year has been like that. Try as I might to give myself breathing room, I always end up with a bottleneck of events that makes me question my sanity for even attempting to do these things in the first place.

At least I have gotten to the point where I no longer buck up against things — sort of like one person trying to stop a tank from advancing: not productive and certainly not wise.

At the last function of my weekend, I was speaking to a friend and classmate about passing the torch for one of the organizations I chair. My advisor was in earshot of the conversation, and came over to join in.

After I finished speaking to Jose — who thankfully stepped up to take the reigns — my advisor asked me how I have managed not to go crazy with all the things I do, to which I replied, I do them without thinking about the fact that I have to, and that there were times where my sanity was questionable.

After this conversation, I couldn't help but wonder if this was in fact the best way to go about life: merely chugging through the long list of things to do.

Why not shorten the list?

I'm old-school and still use an appointment book. I don't own an iPhone, nor am I a member of "crackberry" nation. Good thing, because to have to replace one of those would have been more expensive.

Somehow last week, I managed to put the thing down somewhere and not remember to pick it back up. This isn't something I would normally do, but these days, I am not my normal self.

It took me two days to come to terms with the fact that my planner was gone, that I wasn't going to open my bag and find that it had miraculously reappeared. I stumbled through the days trying to remember as best I could where I was supposed to be, with whom I was supposed to meet, what day it in fact was, etc.

I didn't realize how co-dependent I'd become on the thing until I no longer had it. It was then that I realized that if in fact I didn't try to do everything all the time that I might not need to depend on writing things down.

We (modern society dwellers) have become such master multi-taskers, especially with the use of our organizer du jour, that we now over-commit ourselves on a regular basis. I personally was very guilty of that this weekend.

During all of this, I was prompted to ask myself: Would a simpler life be more enjoyable? There is a possibility. But for now, I have a new planner.