Why I’m Not Getting an MPA—And Where I’m Headed Instead

I’ve always believed that changing your mind doesn’t mean you’re lost—it means you’re paying attention.

A few months ago, I shared that I’d been accepted into a Master of Public Administration program. It felt like the next logical step.  I’ve been writing, researching, reflecting on public policy, education, and social issues – and I thought a formal degree would lend added legitimacy to my work.

But something wasn’t sitting right.

I tried to push through the doubt. I enrolled. I ordered the textbook. I even started reading it—50 pages in, in fact. But with every page, I felt something inside me getting quieter. My momentum slowed. My voice began to dull. My creative drive—the very thing that led me to pursue public service work in the first place—was being buried under deadlines, doctrine, and someone else’s syllabus.

That’s when I realized: this program might be right for someone—but it’s not right for me.

I Don’t Need Permission to Contribute

I started the MPA journey to add “credibility” to my work. But over the past year, I’ve found my voice without needing initials after my name. I’ve written from the heart, from lived experience, and from a desire to understand—not just to impress. My blog became the place where I could explore freely, follow ideas wherever they led, and post with ferocious intensity when a spark hit me.

What I feared most in starting an MPA study wasn’t hard work—it was losing my autonomy.

The Cost Wasn’t Just Financial

The MPA program I enrolled in would end up costing nearly $50,000. A single course was more than $3,800. That’s not just tuition—that’s opportunity cost. That’s creative fuel, potential project funding, or even a scholarship for a math student at my alma mater.

For contrast, I recently looked into data analysis classes at a local community college: $210 per course with my senior discount. That’s more aligned with my current goals—giving me tools to support my research, not rules to confine it.

“Whatever You’re Not Changing, You’re Choosing”

That quote hangs on my wall. And last night, after a sleepless few hours of wrestling with the decision, I looked up at those words and saw them differently. I wasn’t afraid of hard work—I was afraid of walking away. Of being seen as a “quitter.”

But I’ve come to see this not as quitting. This is recommitting—to the work that moves me, to the readers I want to reach, to the writing I refuse to dilute.

So What Happens Now?

I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep learning. I’ll keep asking questions and listening to the responses.  I’ll keep exploring ways to expand my reach and sharpen my impact. I’m exploring courses that feed my curiosity instead of suppressing it.

This isn’t a step backward. It’s a pivot—one made with eyes open, values aligned, and purpose intact.

If you’ve ever found yourself halfway down a path that looks good on paper but feels wrong in your bones, know this:

You are allowed to change your mind. You are allowed to choose again.

I just did. And I’ve never felt more free.