May 26, 2011 § 5 Comments
This evening, after a lovely afternoon with my officemate MC, I spent some time with the girls who are in relationships with the former boys’ club. (Even though only half of us are married to
the group members of the group, I call us the Wives Club in my head. One day it will be true.) We “wives” (or maybe even “future wives”) spent our evening at a place called Sips ‘n Strokes. Dubious double-entendre aside, this place invites guests to sip their beverage of choice (for us: wine) while learning how to replicate a specific painting (the strokes portion). Tonight’s painting was sunflowers in a vase.
Observe step one:
First, we outlined the general appearance of the painting before actually filling anything in. I thought I was going to die of anxiety. (The worst part of the entire experience, in my humble opinion, is picking up the brush, dipping it in a specific color of paint, and dragging it across the canvas. I hate that part.)
Two and a half hours of “wait, what’d she say” and “damn, I almost dipped my brush in my wine” later, and we had a final product:
How this happened is utterly beyond me. But the best part is that I did all of it by myself. Of course, the single caveat to that statement is a great big one: AB helped me a lot. She kept pointing to the places where I needed to fill in more, that sort of thing. She was the brave one who pioneered the canvas while I mimicked her. What I meant to say when I said that I did all of it by myself is that I didn’t have a teacher come and touch it at all. I was definitely tempted a few times, but I plowed on through anyway. So here’s to minor achievements.
And here’s the way my home looks now:
Sometimes it’s nice to have a little creative time with the girls. I was fortunate enough to have an entire day with my girl friends. I’m a lucky one! 🙂
May 1, 2011 § 1 Comment
Ah, May 1st. If we were in early modern England we might celebrate May Day with a Maypole and a festival.
Or maybe if we were in twenty-first century America, we might celebrate the eve of May Day with a BBQ among friends. And the celebration would be less for May Day and more for the triumphant return (read: brief weekend home) of a friend in FBI training.
And at this BBQ we might have brought along our dogs. Who have been utterly wiped out all day. And maybe on May Day, we might enjoy the warm, sunny day by grading the last 9 student papers, reading about 100 pages of a leisure book (what???), and possibly bathing a puppy that smells distinctly of a BBQ grill.
Or, at least, that’s what I’ve done on my May Day.
No, I got nary a new word written on my dissertation. No, I did not conduct additional research on the next chapter.
But I did relax. And recharge. I enjoyed my day off after a fairly productive day yesterday. And I do not feel guilty in the least.
Tomorrow will be a much more productive day because I relaxed on May Day.
April 22, 2011 § 2 Comments
I feel awful.
I have broken down twice today over the phone–once to Robert and the other time to my mom. So, what’s got this girl so gloomy?
I hate saying no to people I love.
Recently, V and I offered some words of hard-won wisdom to a fellow graduate student…and V said something that I’ve never managed to properly accept. She told him not to get so caught up in the stress of the project that he refuses to allow himself some social time. And as a married man, this is important advice to receive.
I have trouble with this particular piece of advice because I feel like I so royally fucked up that now I’m being punished for it. And part of the punishment is not hanging out with friends and family. Telling people no.
We received an invitation to dinner at a couple of friends’ house for Easter dinner (since we’ll be celebrating early with Robert’s family tomorrow…and not seeing my family at all…since March 12th). I haven’t seen these friends since February. I nearly burst into tears when I received the texted invitation. And I did burst into tears when I called Robert to talk to him about it.
I’m fairly certain I won’t be able to go because dinner is going to take a great deal of time tomorrow evening.
I feel like a horrible friend, a horrible daughter, and a horrible daughter-in-law. Not to mention the world’s worst sister–I haven’t seen my sister, who literally lives right around the corner from us, since March 12th. It makes me sick to my stomach to realize what all I am having to sacrifice in order to repay for my dilly-dallying last year.
Take it from A.Hab., future and present grad students: set yourself up for success. Get started as early as you legitimately can so that you are able to equally divide your time between research/writing and a social life. The alternative is not pleasant. Truly.
April 8, 2011 § 12 Comments
“I love this, A.Hab.!” V exclaims. She’s reading something I wrote. A draft of something. I can’t remember what now. I must not look convinced by her adoration of my writing. “Don’t you think this sounds good?” She reads me the section that has her so impressed. A smile cracks on my lips…I don’t really know why.
“I…guess…?” It’s not really a question, but my tone inflects up. “I mean…yeah?” I do it again.
Poor V sits across from me, paper in hand, trying so hard to get me to read what she’s reading, the way she’s reading it. She tries again and reads a different section. Afterward, she looks up at me, waiting. “It’s good!” There’s no room for arguing against her–she speaks so emphatically, already convinced that she’s not only right but that I’ll think so, too.
“Well…thank you,” I finally manage. It’s feeble. I’m pretty sure she notices it’s feeble.
“A.Hab., don’t you see that this is good?” she asks again. “I mean, it sounds intelligent. You really know what you’re talking about.”
Yeah, I want to say to her. But we’re talking about my writing here. My writing is never that good. I’m just average. Your writing on the other hand–it’s the real deal!
I don’t say that. I know it won’t go over well. V is trying to help me learn to take a compliment. I’m trying, V, I really am.
Like so many graduate and professional students out there, I suffer from what’s commonly called “Impostor Syndrome.” The imposture here is that, despite my ability to please two admissions committees enough for entrance into two graduate programs (one at the Master’s level and another at the Doctoral level), I’m really not as good as they all think I am. In fact, I know I’m not that good, and one day they’ll find out and boot me from the program. Literally. They will kick me on my rear-end with a boot. Out the door.
I’ve been in my graduate program since 2004. I graduated in 2006 with my M.A., and the same year I entered the PhD program. Maybe I just sort of snuck in under the radar? Maybe they didn’t notice how bad my seminar papers were? How horrible my thesis was? How contrived my theoretical lines of inquiry?
When I receive compliments (especially in regards to my intellect or writing ability), my first thought is an emphatic But!
Would I like to curb this tendency? Absolutely. Of course.
Do I want to value myself and the work I do? Absolutely.
But, honestly, the majority of my motivation to learn how to take a compliment is externally-driven. I would like to be able to believe what others say about me for their sake. I am keenly aware at how disappointing it is for the people who compliment me to be met with a mere shrug or shake of the head or protest. It infuriates me when others do that to the compliments I offer them. I feel embarrassed when others offer me a compliment because I know better than they do. (How arrogant!) And I want to set them straight; I want them to know just how ill-bestowed their kind words are. (Ever the teacher….)
So how do we break out of this habit? What do we do with the Impostor Within? How do we learn to embrace and love and see the Person That Other People See?
April 2, 2011 § 16 Comments
“It’s like ripples in a pond!” I exclaim over my grilled herb chicken. My director and I are at lunch at a local in-hotel Italian restaurant. The number of faculty and staff at this particular location right now is astounding–this must be the tastiest lunch deal within walking distance of campus. I’d tend to agree with them.
“Well, maybe for you it is…,” she says warily.
“I guess I have a great topic.” When she cocks her eyebrow and kind of laughs, I take it back. “Well…I have good ideas how to work on this topic. I guess I’m just worried that this topic is so huge, so unwieldy that I’ll get to the end of the dissertation and hear criticism because I didn’t talk about this point or apply my theory in that way. I’m scared of being judged for what could have been.”
“That’s fair,” she concedes. And then she pauses. I take a sip of my water realizing that I’m doing it again–rambling like a hyperactive child who discovered her mother’s sugary treat stash. “You need to come up with an elevator topic.” My eyebrows crease. “You don’t know about the elevator topic?” she asks, surprised she hasn’t already divulged this secret to me yet, over our six-year working relationship.
And, friends, that’s when my directing professor delivered the single-best advice I have ever been given. And now I will share it with you.
“The elevator topic…,” she says almost conspiratorially, leaning forward a little. “…is a method for distilling your entire dissertation argument into a single, concise sentence.”
Imagine you are at the MLA conference, the location for all humanities-related job interviews. You are in a hotel, preparing for one of your first market interviews. You’ve waited a while, and now you wait on the elevator. As the doors ding! open, another job-seeking-hopeful joins you and pleasantly engages you in conversation.
“So, what’s your dissertation about?” he asks, pushing the number 3.
You have three floors to offer the argument of a 200-page book.
What do you say?
I laugh, interrupting the magic of the moment, and say, “I’d end up having to hold the door open and would just annoy everyone.”
She laughs too. “Well, this is something you need to do. I’m concerned that your topic is attempting to do too much. Your dissertation will not be perfect. It just won’t. Even if you publish it, you will flip it open to the first page and locate an error immediately. You’ll realize that you meant to say it another way or that you should have developed your argument in a different direction. That’s the nature of a dissertation. If you focus on the perfect product that argues everything, you will never finish.”
The last four words she delivers ominously. I think the sky darkens outside the window as she speaks.
“So, an elevator topic, huh?” I ask when the sky lightens. “That is what I will devote my next 48 hours to. I will come up with an elevator topic.”
“Yes. And when you do, you need to write it down and put it on your fridge. Put it everywhere you will see it.”
After I left lunch, I felt inspired.
“V!” I probably blast off her ear when we’re on the phone. “I have this great idea. Professor Director told me about the elevator topic. Have you heard about it?” She hasn’t. I impart my newly-gained wisdom upon her. Once I finish, I say, “So I was thinking…if it’s something that should go on the fridge, it’s something that should fit on a small piece of paper, right? Like a Post-It Note!”
V knows where I’m going with this. “Oh my gosh, A.Hab., I love it!”
We agree that Saturday will be Post-It Note Argument Day. (It’s a lengthy title, but major projects deserve lengthy titles.)
This morning, V and I worked on and wrote our Post-It Note Arguments. We wrote them about four times (twice on Post-It notes, once on our notepads, and once on our laptops). We exchanged one of the two Post-It notes with our argument with each other, fully intending to help hold the other accountable for her concise argument.
I will speak for V when I say that we are relieved, better focused, and more motivated to incorporate these arguments throughout our dissertation chapters. V’s even going to apply this theory to individual chapter arguments in order to check that she is consistent from the beginning to the end of each chapter.
I’m thrilled. My first Post-It note argument draft was rough. V helped me see how it was too broad. She gave me a dose of honesty that I truly needed. My first draft, she said, read too much like a dissertation from a psychology student or a human sciences or evolutionary biology student. “Are you really going to be able to prove this by the end of your dissertation?” she asked. I shook my head. “And where’s Shakespeare?” I reworked it to include the words “select seventeenth century texts” and reevaluated my end-goal…and now I’m happy. Because my chapters are working toward this argument. I just now need to make sure I state it clearly throughout the dissertation in a way that won’t leave my readers wondering why they’re receiving a specific anecdote.
So, here’s the moral of the story:
When in doubt, write it out…on a Post-It note!
March 31, 2011 § 18 Comments
Yesterday, I was sad and disappointed. I cried. A lot. I felt unvalidated by my department. Like a total loser. As though through the absence of the fellowship, they were not only giving me the middle finger but also a nice boot to the rear while sneering, “This money is only for serious scholars. You suck, and there’s no way you meet our basic qualifications to fund you.” It took several hours, a couple of long phone calls, some incredible comments from my blogosphere pals (thank you, all!!), lots of hugs, and some pretty addictive Chinese food to finally help me overcome the emotional breakdown.
About halfway through my breakdown, in the midst of one of Robert’s awesome hugs, I remembered the promise I had made myself to surprise and thank my students…when I got the fellowship. Weeks ago, when I had to sacrifice time spent on them (grading, coming up with kick-ass lesson plans) to work on chapters for the fellowship application, I decided that I would thank them with treats. I would bring in cookies and maybe a movie, if I could find one. We would have a celebratory party because together we did it! When it struck me that I would not be able to keep my promise to myself (and secretly to my students), I cried more. I really wanted to have a party with them. I really wanted to thank them for their patience with me this semester.
And that’s when I realized:
I could still choose the party!
“You know what?” I sniffled, reluctantly pulling away from Robert’s hug. “I really don’t have it in me to lesson plan right now. I want to rent Persepolis for class tomorrow, watch the first half, and bring cookies to my students.”
Regardless the outcome, my students were still patient with me and have been rooting for me since I told them I applied for the fellowship. Why shouldn’t they get a little recognition?
So, Robert and I got ourselves some dinner, we went to the store to rent Persepolis (we’re reading volume 1–her childhood story–in class right now), and then we bought two packages of fresh-baked cookies (one was sugar, the other chocolate chip). When I walked into my classroom at 8 a.m., my students practically lifted out of their seats, craning their necks in order to see if I did indeed have a DVD in my hand and…cookies??
I took roll. I put the DVD in the computer and the cookies on the table.
“Well, yesterday I got some bad news.” My students seemed to collectively hold their breath. “Do you remember the funding that I applied for this summer in order to finish my dissertation? Remember how I had to write those chapters instead of grade your papers?” They nodded. “Well, I didn’t get the fellowship.”
All together, in chorus, I heard sighing and whispers of “oh no….”
“It’s okay,” I said cheerily. “I had decided weeks ago that I would thank you guys by bringing in cookies and watching a movie if I got the fellowship. But you know what? We’re going to have the party anyway! Screw ’em! I’m still very grateful that you guys have been patient with me and didn’t give me a hard time about getting your grades to you late. You’ve been awesome, and I want to recognize that. So, even if they don’t think we should be happy, screw ’em! I have a great class. Let’s relax today!”
They dove into the cookies (I borrowed a joke from one of Cosby’s early routines about how cookies [his joke was about chocolate cake] were basically like breakfast…eggs, milk, bread…sugar…), I gave them a quick (and really easy) quiz, and then we settled down to watch Persepolis.
Look, here’s the thing.
Does it suck when you work your ass off for no recognition? Of course.
Does it hurt like hell when you feel so utterly rejected? Yup.
Does it cut to the quick to realize you have to go with Plan B? Yes, indeed.
But does it prevent you from still choosing the party regardless? Nope.
And, with that, this is the last post you’ll get about the fellowship. It’s over. I’m done with it. The committee made their decision; there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m kicking the dust off my heels and walking on.
Anyone wanna join me in the party?
March 30, 2011 § 11 Comments
This entry will not be long because I don’t want to take away from V’s happiness.
This entry is just to inform you that I did not receive the summer writing fellowship.
Please, in lieu of condolence comments, leave congratulatory comments to V here. They will not hurt my feelings or rub it in–I love V and truly believe that she absolutely deserves the fellowship. In fact, I have a feeling that your congratulatory messages to her will lift my spirits.
V, I am so happy for you and proud of you! 🙂 You absolutely deserved it! We’ll discover who the other fellowship recipient was in a couple of days, I’m sure. This does not change anything for my plans, and I have Robert’s incredible work ethic to thank for that. (More on that sentence’s vague meaning later.)
Join me, won’t you, in celebrating with my dear friend V? 🙂
(P.S. Please don’t think for a second that V and I were competing against each other for this fellowship. According to the application announcement, the committee had up to three fellowships to award. They chose to award two–one to V and one to this mysterious other person. V did not steal this from me. I am not angry at her or bitter toward her. So, you all better not be either. ;))