For some reason I have always been fascinated by Mount Everest and the climbers that risk so much to reach the top. I am by no means a climber and I absolutely hate the cold, but somewhere deep down inside I have discovered the drive to accomplish what looks to be impossible. Interestingly, upon completing the first of a series of tasks on the way to earning my degree, my professor looked me in the eye and said, “You have made it to Base Camp A on your way to the summit. Remember, not everyone makes it, so you must stay focused.” Indeed.

The road to a PhD actually started just following my 52nd birthday when, after years of dreaming about going to seminary, I applied for the Master of Christian Studies program at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary. Suddenly, I found myself really worried that I might not get accepted while trying to figure out how to access my transcripts—transcripts that dated back to the dark ages when computers were the size of small warehouses.

Once I did get accepted, I began registering for classes and because I was a first-year student (aka: Freshman), I had no choice but to attend classes every single day, on campus, for the first year. In fact, at the time, there were no online classes for students who lived within a fifty-mile radius of the school. Most of my first-year classes included students from the College at Southeastern and I ended up studying with eighteen-year-olds, which was really fun, especially once they stopped referring to me as Ma’am.

My first trip to the library was very disorienting. I could not find the Card Files. Go ahead and laugh those of you who remember what I am talking about. It took nearly every corpuscle of character in my being to humble myself and ask the twenty-year-old library assistant to help me figure out the dewy decimal system in a twenty-first century reality.

To this day I appreciate those professors who welcomed my incessant questions and encouraged me along the path of discovery. On many occasions I had to restrain myself from raising my hand with questions or from commenting on the material or exclaiming out loud. Suffice it to say, you know you’ve lived a lot of life when Church History II covers the era when you attended college for the first time.

On only one occasion did I play the age card. I had not properly numbered the pages of a paper and therefore, to my horror, received a lower grade. I met with the professor personally to assure him that I had done the work but was struggling to learn how to format a document and would he please reconsider my grade.

I’ll admit, and only because I’ve completed my degree, that on one occasion, after receiving a terrible grade on PhD seminar a paper, I met with the professor and pleaded temporary insanity. Really.

In the same class, I learned the art of “wringing my hands.” I was the lone (older) woman in small cohort of young men and every.single.day we debated on different topics chosen by the professor. We were grouped into teams of three and had like maybe twenty minutes to prepare together. I was a wreck but had no choice but to participate. The memory alone makes me break out into a cold sweat. I knew that I had to at least show some improvement over the course of those 10 days of class, so I’d wring my bony hands under the table and would wait for nondescript moments to insert my nervous voice into the sometimes-heated debate. Dear God, make this day end!

Admittedly, the road to earning a seat at the table is arduous.

Maybe you are on an adult-learning journey, maybe you are longing for a place at the table too. Let me assure you that while the perils of adult learning sometimes can feel never-ending, steep, winding and windy … the ascent will provide you with opportunities for personal and professional growth and the rich reward of new vistas. It is well worth the effort. Let me know if you are thinking about going back to school and I will gladly be one of your academic Sherpas!