Well, I’m back. Sort of.

I’m entering my third week of school at the University of Missouri in Columbia, where I arrived Jan. 10. I know I promised this column wouldn’t turn into “Tom’s Adventures in Grad School,” but I have to tell you about this place.

Let’s dispense with one thing up front: The weather sucks. A lot. A lot of people have been saying this is the worst winter in years here. There was a storm a day or two after I arrived and another a few days later. This is being written on Monday and they’re predicting up to 12 inches of snow. They’ve already cancelled classes at the University Tuesday, which means if I’m smart enough to actually get my butt out of bed, I can get ahead on my work before I inevitably get behind.

Needless to say, I’m cranky. I think the governor of Missouri owes me a huge apology since I moved here to escape the kind of weather we’ve been having.

Oh, and they do a rotten job of plowing here, although in fairness, they normally don’t have to do it that often. And people here can’t drive in snow to save their lives. A day or two after I got here, a guy made a left turn in front of me on a city street and did a 180. I don’t think I’d ever seen that before. Even knowing how to drive in snow, like I do, I’m terrified of everybody else.

But that’s the extent of my complaints.

Other than that, things are, well, amazing.

The University of Missouri itself has a rather storied history. It was the first land-grant university west of the Mississippi. It’s got about 30,000 students and is one of four colleges in Columbia. The area around campus is kind of like Dinkytown around the University of Minnesota, except it’s not nearly as seedy.

The journalism school is a story in itself. A bit over 100 years old, it was the first j-school in the country and the first to offer a graduate degree. Obviously, when it comes to teaching, they know the drill here.

That’s why it attracts some heavy hitters on the faculty – Pulitzer Prize winners, published authors, people with influence both wide and deep in the profession. I’m taking three classes this semester (one has met only once so far, because it’s weekly and this week’s session was cancelled due to the weather). The two professors I’m most familiar with are astonishing teachers. My seminar prof knows exactly how to engage the class in some fascinating (to us, anyway) discussions. My literature-of-journalism prof is a sweet man, a college teacher right out of central casting who is unbelievably knowledgeable and passionate about his subject.

What’s amazing, given the caliber of the faculty, is the utter lack of condescension. I mean, here’s the deal: The Forum, the biggest paper on which I ever worked, is about the equivalent of a AA farm club in baseball (that is not a comment on the people working there, by the way; it’s more a comment on the way it’s structured and managed). And here I am, hanging out with the journalism equivalent of the Yankees. I’m only starting to get used to being around it.

Yet, when a student talks to one of the faculty, the professor’s first question, often as not, is, “What do you need from us?”

I had a meeting with one faculty member, whose class I’m not even taking, that was typical. The woman has published two books, been on “Oprah,” worked for Ms. magazine (she’s a personal friend of Gloria Steinem) and teaches magazine writing. When she found out I’d taught writing, she insisted I come and see her. The first thing she said to me in that meeting was, “How can I help you?”

Part of that lack-of-condescension thing is that the faculty has this huge commitment to making sure students succeed in the program. They’re constantly asking what we feel we need to learn. They don’t have to do that. They could let us root, hog or die. But it’s one of the reasons that a journalism degree from Missouri is pretty much the gold standard.

Am I gushing? Yeah, I guess I am. I’m still in the first blush of a new experience. But it’s an experience I’m all but certain will be life-changing, and not just from a career standpoint. I simply can’t express how exciting it is, after 30 years of daily/weekly deadlines and the pressures of making a living, to once again be able to take a step back and enjoy the process of learning new things.

My fellow master’s students, all of whom are slightly more than half my age, are a great bunch. Whip-smart, hard-working, incredibly committed, every one of them. If I don’t play my A game in this circumstance, I never will. And I will have wasted perhaps the single greatest opportunity of my life.

I’m a good reporter and a good teacher. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished professionally. But I know in my bones that after two years here, if I work hard and take every advantage of this, I’ll be a thousand times better than I was.

I’m a middle-aged man who thought he had seen all that life has to offer, the best and the worst. But at 52, it’s wonderful to discover a place the likes of which I haven’t seen before.

People told me it was brave of me to do this, but I don’t believe that; bravery implies that there’s a downside to this and I simply can’t see it.

So far – and I’m pretty sure this won’t change – it’s all up-side. That’s a fine and rare thing.