I really should be in bed, but I have my To-Do List to compile. I live my life with lists.

Anyway, I'm gonna tell you a story. Picture it: August 2002. A cramped, dark room with a bunch of chairs crowded around two big tables. Those chairs are filled with graduate students ranging from early 20's to mid 30's, some looking a little frazzled already, others cool as a cucumber, all a wee bit wary of each other. I sit in the corner of the table, partially hidden by another student. This is the second week of my first year of graduate school. And I'm scared.

A grumpy yet brilliant (University of Chicago alum, oo-la-la) prof enters and proceeds to wow the class with sharp analysis of the readings. These readings discussed political philosophy, political history, liberalism--that is, I think they had something to do with one or all of those topics. It's not time that made this memory fuzzy, it's the fact that I didn't understand a damn thing. These readings caused great concern and angst. I proceed to panic inwardly for the entire three hours of the seminar.

I left thinking I might have made a grave mistake.

Luckily, I soon got over feeling like a simpleton and learned to live with the sense that everybody knew more than me because frankly, some of my fellow students did, but a lot of them did not--they just knew how to fake it.

I brought this story up because I am auditing a public history seminar and today was the first day of class. Even though almost three years has passed since I finished grad school, I still felt panic-y and nervous as I scanned the reading list and requirements. But then, those feelings passed and I felt pretty darn comfortable.

Good sign.