A few weeks ago I returned to my alma mater, Colorado College, to receive an honorary doctorate. I'll be honest (what does that phrase mean? That I'm usually full of shit?), the honor weirded me out. I mean, I'm currently underemployed and hustling to figure out how to stay in the game, yet I'm worthy of a doctorate? Aren't those given as the academic equivalent of the lifetime achievement award? But of course I went, musing at yet another sympton of my bi-polar career: in some situations I'm a rock star, other times it's like "Marc who?"
As with most things, my anxiety laid to rest once I got there. What I didn't know is the CC gives out doctorates every year at Freshman Convocation to distinguished alumni in mid-career "as examples of what students can aspire to when they graduate." And I was one of three, including Krista Smith, the west coast editor of Vanity Fair who, among other responsibilities, throws the VF Oscar party, and T.J. Cole, a juvenile and family court judge in Boulder who already has four actual degrees.
But it was yours doctorally who gave the keynote address, which I was really proud of until I listened to it here. You see, I've been making an effort to concentrate on breathing in a calm, yogafied manner. What I didn't realize was how much I was making truly noisy nasal inhalations. I sound like I'm snorting cocaine. Which is maybe why the kids liked it so much.