
I’m two terms into a Masters in English and am wondering how I made such a bad decision.

There are a few things that are obvious: I was excited to start something new after a long few months of hardships and health scares, I liked the feeling that I was “working towards something bigger” aside from projects at work, and I idiotically believed the degree would help me edit books and have more credibility as a “writer.”

(That last point is a reasonable assumption, and to some part probably true; I may get a call back from certain organizations if I have a graduate degree in English than if I didn’t.)

But what I came to realize was that going back to school was easier than researching and writing a book, which is what I want to do. Writing a book is difficult; going back to school is less so. It’s still hard, sure, but for different reasons. If you’re trying to write a book, there is an infinite amount of uncertainty involved. You have to pick a topic, you have to organize an outline, research, write, and re-write, all without any (or very little) outside accountability.

When you go back to school, the uncertainty is near zero. Your program’s classes are pre-planned, all homework assignments have detailed prompts and grading rubrics that, if followed, will always guarantee a good grade. If you fail to do the assignments, you get punished, which creates an unmatched level of accountability and incentive to get the work done. This is why people who spend their 20s and 30s getting a PhD struggle in the real-world. The real-world sucks. It’s confusing and uncertain and there is almost never clear instructions. (Just think of tax season.)

My new heuristic, and what I’m telling anyone who asks, is **you should go back to school if it opens up opportunities for you to do things that would be *impossible* for you to do without the degree.** I put special emphasis on the word “impossible” there. I mean *truly impossible*. It has to be the case that you would not be able to do whatever it is you wanted to do no matter the amount of money or time you have without a degree or more schooling.

For example, my sister wanted to be a psychologist. She *hates* school, but it’s impossible to be a psychologist without a Masters degree, so she went back to school. That’s a *great* decision because it allows her to do something that was impossible for her to do before she got the degree.

In my circumstance, I can edit a book without having a masters degree. I can write a book without having a masters degree. I can get a book deal without having a masters degree. Would having a masters help in some of those situations? Absolutely. But doing any of that is not impossible without said degree.

A few other things come to mind: You can’t fly a plane without getting a pilots license and taking classes. So if you want to be a pilot, go back to school. The same can be said for becoming a doctor or a lawyer.

Sometimes, going back to school offers opportunities within your current role but higher up the totem pole. This is another reason to go back to school, *but only if you want to move up that totem pole*. My mother was a Spanish teacher for a lot of my childhood, but she wanted to become a principle. Becoming a principle is almost unheard of without some sort of higher education, so she got her masters.

By no means am I saying this is a simple process. It’s still a difficult decision. It might be even harder now because the question changes from *should I go back to school*? to *what do I want to do with my life, and will going back to school make it possible to do that thing*?


Only go back to school if it will allow you to pursue an opportunity that is impossible to pursue without another degree.

Should I go back to school?

“When I was a little kid,” Mickey Spillane said, “we had moved into a school where there was a library that ran underneath the windows–and I remember the teacher saying, ‘Children, someday you’ll be able to read this book, and she held up a copy of Moby-Dick. And I said to the teacher, ‘I like this book!’ She says to me, ‘You certainly didn’t read this book!’ And I said, ‘Call me Ishmael.’ She could never get over that!”

I love that story.

Here's how Mickey Spillane handled critics.

“I have gotten the worst reviews in the world,” he said. “So we made this big ad out of the bad reviews, quoting from them. Then underneath, we’d have a line like, ‘This book sold six million copies.’ The top of the ad said, Mickey Spillane says about his new book, ‘I hope this one gets lousy reviews.’”

The meanest critics can be the best advertisers.

Read more [lessons from Mickey Spillane's life here](https://thewanderingreader.substack.com/p/8-ideas-on-writing-and-life-from), or read [my notes on one of his biographies here](https://www.dltn.io/posts/spillane-king-of-pulp-fiction).



How to handle critics

Last week, while waiting to make a U-turn across a busy street into Barnes and Noble, a car, poised for a right-hand turn, commenced its trajectory, coinciding with my own turn (even though I had the right-of-way).

I stopped, and let him continue. 'Twas a simple error, I deemed, since he was looking the other way to ensure no cars were coming.

But to my astonishment, he stopped, promptly rolled down his window, flipped me off, yelled some words I don’t think he would repeat in front of his mother, and then sped away.

I was amazed. For some reason, he felt the need to make his anger known to me, as if it was somehow going to change the circumstances.

This happened again last night. In a parking garage while I was talking with a friend, a motorcycle came down from the upper level, making its way to the exit. At the same time, a car was backing out, quite slowly.

The motorcycle saw the car backing out, deemed it would soon be in its own path, sped up to pass it, honked its horn, and then flipped off the car.

Again, an honest mistake. The car didn’t see the motorcycle, and I’m sure if they did, they wouldn’t have tried to hit them on purpose. Did the motorcycle think said driver was engaging in a malevolent act? I doubt it. Was just angry? Yes.

Reflecting on these tales, I think to myself, *Why do these people care so much?*

Then, I was reminded of the wisdom imparted by Seneca:

>  Now all the things which cause us to groan or recoil, are part of the tax of life – things, my dear Lucillius, which you should never hope and never seek to escape.

Reading thoughtless threads and being forced to watch mind-numbing videos on Twitter are part of the tax of seeking interesting ideas from strangers on the internet.

Cold DMs from people who want to “grow your newsletter revenue” are part of the tax of meeting interesting people in your inbox.

Dealing with close calls are part of the tax of driving.

But the best thing about all of these situations? You can just ignore them.

You don’t have to reply to anyone’s DM, or put them on blast by posting about it.

You don’t have to engage with anyone who has “Politics is my identity” or “The Democrats are evil” in their bio.

Upon the successful evasion of catastrophe, you may continue upon your merry drive.

Yes, there are taxes to be paid, but once paid, you can just ignore them.





You can just ignore things


There doesn’t have to be an end goal.

With work, with hobbies, with the things that you do, they don’t need to act as some means to an end. They can be an end themselves.

I love history. I love reading about history and I love writing about history. I sometimes fall into the trap of figuring out how I can use what I read and learn to accelerate my career. That seems like a noble thing to do, right?

The more I think about it, it’s like I’m searching for justification for my time spent reading. “Look,” I tell myself. “I’m spending a lot of time reading, but I’m sharing what I learn online, so it’s not a total waste of time.”

But even if I shared nothing online, it most definitely would not be a waste of time. I love to read, and that’s a fine way to spend my days.

This post was inspired [by a tweet from Obsidian CEO Stephan Ango](https://twitter.com/kepano/status/1694735091057279200?s=20), who, in response to someone asking what the end goal of Obsidian is, said, “there doesn't have to be an end goal. you can just make useful things for people who want to use them, and live a happy life.”

You can just read books and live a happy life.

You can just work a 9-5 and spend time with your family boating on the weekends and live a happy life.

You can just make some YouTube videos about things you want to share and live a happy life.

You can just post some interesting thoughts on Twitter and live a happy life.

You don’t have to have a content strategy. You don’t need to have a sales funnel or a five-year plan.

You can just do the things you love to do and live a happy life.



You can just do the things you love to do.

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