When my seven-year-old daughter wants a laugh, she says, “Daddy, did you do your homework today?” She thinks it’s second-grade hilarious that her father is a student, with teachers, classmates–and lots and lots of homework.

In August, I added graduate student to my list of titles, alongside full-time Dad, reporter, and world class annoying husband. After doing a ton of research, I enrolled in the University of Georgia’s low-residency MFA program in narrative media writing, and things have been moving at high speed ever since. The workload looks like this: read, a lot. Write, a lot.

Now, it’s been a few years (okay, a few decades) since I was a history and political science major at Emory University. But I remember my favorite spots for getting work done: the 24-hour library with the oversized spread-your-stuff-out tables; the medical school cafeteria with that serves food late; and the lecture hall with the big, comfortable furniture in the lobby.

These days, my go-to spot for getting my school work done is the 7:37 from Fairfield, Connecticut to Grand Central Terminal in New York. For an hour and 23 minutes, while my fellow commuters scroll through the news on their phones, write work emails or close their eyes and listen to music, I’m reading, taking notes, and writing.

Having this structured time, 90 minutes in the morning and 90 minutes in the evening on the commute back home, has been a blessing—which isn’t often said about commuting. But on the train, I have a largely distraction-free, quiet environment where I can dive into my work. When I get off the train and get home, I can spend time with my daughters without feeling the stress of books that need to be read or writing that needs to be done.

It can, at times, be overwhelming. Any program this demanding is going to push you well past your comfort zone. You’re breaking down muscle to get stronger, and you’re going to feel it. But I’ve got classmates who have been there when I needed them, even if we’re not able to meet up for coffee at Jittery Joe’s in Athens.

We’ll email, jump on a conference call, or just message each other on Facebook. Sometimes it’s a full discussion of a book we’re reading, other times it’s just a quick message “you hanging in there?”

Those quick check-ins always remind me I’m not doing this alone, just as I wasn’t on my own even during the loneliest nights studying late in that medical school cafeteria during my undergrad years, drinking bottomless cups of coffee while writing a paper on Soviet politics or the literature of the Second World War.

For me, the “distance” in distance learning has little to do with my proximity to campus. It’s really about the distance I’m moving my career and life forward by earning this degree.

Some mornings, I’ll read a really brilliant line in a book, or write a line that makes me feel like I’m becoming a stronger, more talented writer, and I’ll take a breath and look out the window. The landscape rushes by at surprising speed as the train speeds toward the city. It’s easy to forget how fast I’m moving when I’m engrossed in my work, but that’s how it is in this program. From time to time, I look up and realize how far I’ve come, and how far I know this program is going to take me.