High Dive.

Next week I will be in Ithaca, specifically at Cornell University.  Earlier this spring, after much research and internal debate and thought, I applied to Cornell's executive MBA program.  Beyond the three people I had write letters of recommendation for my application and my Mother, I told no one of my application.  Let me just see if I even get in, I thought to myself.  Then I'll decide one way or the other if I'm ready to take this leap.

I got in.

Two weeks later, after an open house and making a list of pros and cons,  I accepted their offer.  (Which, of course, deep down in my mind, I knew I was going to do when I submitted my application.  But we all tell ourselves different things at different times, don't we?)

At 35 I'm going back to school.
Business school.
While, it must be said, also continuing to work full-time at my job and maintaining my life in Boston.  Basically, if I thought I was busy before...well, I have a feeling we ain't seen nothing yet.

This past week, I made plans with a few friends here and there for dinners in an effort to see some folks before my free time vanishes, suddenly buried in excel spreadsheets and case studies. I am taking all next week off from work as a "vacation" for our very first residency session at Cornell.  People keep exclaiming about how excited I must be, how much fun I'm going to have.

And I am excited.  Sort of.  And I'm sure it will be fun.  Kind of.  In the interest of full disclosure, I would be remiss if I didn't also admit to being nervous.  And anxious.  And slightly scared.  This is a whole new world for me.  One I AM excited to learn about and feel I have skills for.  Still, I am under no false illusions that this adventure is going to be a hell of a lot of work and take time and energy I didn't even know I had. I tell myself that I am confident that the payoff will be worth the reward, because I genuinely am.  Even if I'm not entirely sure what direction having a MBA will take me in my life, I feel (I hope!) I won't regret this pursuit.  Do we ever know for sure what direction any path in life is going to take us?  We make the best decision we can at the time, given the facts we have. The rest,  I think requires a bit of luck and a lot of faith.

A dear friend of mine, who will soon be pursuing her own MBA this fall at Yale, had some great words of wisdom for me recently as she and I both shared our thoughts on being both excited and terrified.  "You've thrown your backpack over the wall," she said.  "You can't see what's on the other side of the wall, you're not even sure if you're going to like it over there but something made you do it, something made you toss that backpack, even if you aren't entirely sure why.  Now your job is to crawl over to the other side and get it.  That's what you focus on.  Go get that backpack."

Tomorrow, I start climbing.

One of the nicest co-workers I know retired earlier this spring.  I ran into him in our office kitchenette one afternoon about a week or two before his last day in the office.  We talked a bit about the plans he and his wife had made for his first "summer of freedom" and then he asked me if I had any vacations planned.  I explained the Cornell program to him, adding that for this summer at least, my vacation would be to head to the classroom.  Then he asked the question that usually follows, about my excitement level.

"I am," I told him. Usually I leave it at that, particularly with people I don't imagine want or have the time to hear about my roller coaster emotions regarding the whole thing.  But this time, for some reason, I paused and took a breath.  Richard looked at me, knowing I had more to say.  "The thing is, I feel like I'm standing on a diving board.  I'm in my swimsuit and I climbed up there of my own free will.  But now I'm looking down at the pool, unsure of how deep or how cold the water is.  And that's kind of scary.  I don't even know what I don't know."

Richard leaned back against the kitchen counter and nodded as if he completely understood.  He began to tell me about an art exhibit he'd seen a few years ago when George Lucas and Stephen Spielberg exhibited some art pieces from their private collections.  I stood there listening, not sure this non sequitur was headed.  "So the last painting in the exhibit," my coworker explained, "is a Norman Rockwell painting called 'Boy on a High Dive.'  And it's this little boy, standing on a diving board, peering down over the edge.  Spielberg keeps that in his office, apparently.  He said it's how he feels every time he begins to make another movie."

I smiled, close to laughing now that I saw the connection.  Richard moved away from the sink, on his way out the door and back to his office.  "You're going to be great, Kelli.  I am sure of it.  After all, you and Spielberg are looking at the world the same way. That's gotta say something."  

Touched and inspired by Richard's story I went back to my desk to look up the painting.  I found an article about the exhibit and some comments Spielberg made about Boy on a High Dive: We're all on diving boards, hundreds of times during our lives," he explains.  "Taking the plunge or pulling back from the abyss ... is something that we must face.  For me, that painting represents every motion picture just before I commit to directing it -- just that one moment, before I say, 'Yes, I'm going to direct that movie.'

Here's to it, Spielberg.
Onward.  Forward. Diving In.  Climbing over that wall.
Reaching for that moment.