Choosing Academia: Some Cautionary Notes

Awkward prologue, because I don't feel like making it a separate post:

In recent weeks, I've been surprised by the grief I've felt over my student years coming to an end. Until now, I'd mostly focused on the relief of putting this fiasco behind me, not to mention enjoying our new puppy and attending to other life stuff. But a couple things have brought a pang of sadness. 

 

A student who has been here longer than I have, someone I've considered a model grad student and one of the few women to graduate recently, just successfully defended her dissertation. I'm so pleased for her, and it has also reminded me how I used to imagine my triumphant dissertation defense, the sense of camaraderie with my professors-turned-colleagues, and the celebration with friends afterward. That picture became less triumphant and celebratory as the years went on, until I didn't really have a picture anymore.

I've also had coffee recently with a history scholar who impressed me very much -- not only is she a professor, she's also a young mom, a rare female academic from my Reformed circles, and involved with the founding of an interesting new theological institute. (In other words, a rockstar in my eyes!) Talking with her reminded me of things I had hoped for myself -- which reminded me, in turn, that I have no idea what my next steps are, what I have to contribute. Generally speaking, I am not anxious about this. However, that doesn't mean I'm not still grieving . . . thinking about how things might have been different, if I had made different choices and received different mentorship.

The two hardest things, I'm realizing, are the relational aspect and the sense of falling short of my potential. Far from a sense of camaraderie, there's a sense that, with a notable exception or two, my relationships with faculty weren't what I thought they were. And then, the sense that I do have a decent piece of historical scholarship in me, but I couldn't bring it to fruition. I'd still like to write it someday. I'm just not sure when, what about, or under whose guidance.

 

Anyway, there's just a lot on my mind as graduation looms. (I don't plan on attending commencement for my consolation Masters, for a number of reasons.)

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There are many posts and articles out there (and even entire blogs!) giving reasons not to attend graduate school. Some are well worth reading and taking under consideration, and I'll reiterate one or two similar points here. However, that's not the type of post I'm primarily interested in writing. Instead, I want to raise some questions I believe are worth asking, and cautions worth considering, before committing to grad school in general, or to any specific program or mentor.

Keep in mind that my advice is colored by painful experiences that are quite fresh, that I am only familiar with programs in the humanities fields, and that things vary widely from program to program. It's always important to gather a variety of input when considering a Ph.D. These are simply things I wished I had known, or had taken more seriously, at various points in my journey. (Note that I am glossing over major issues such as funding and the job market, as discussion of these topics is easy to find online.) All that said, here are several thoughts I've collected over the past few months.

Choosing Grad School

--It is hard for me to encourage anyone to enter graduate school driven solely, or even primarily, by love of their subject. Certainly, passion is important, but "I could read theology for hours" might not sustain you if other motives, like the desire for an academic career, are flagging. Keep in mind that, for most people, the demands of a graduate program do not allow the time or flexibility for leisurely absorption of books that interest you. While graduate seminars can sometimes be invigorating, they also involve a lot of glorified book reports as you and your peers stumble through classroom facilitation. Consider whether you could read more deeply in your areas of interest on your own. If the "guild" issues are important to you, you can always purchase a scholarly journal subscription or two. I realize I sound cynical about the value of a graduate education. I don't mean to suggest that it's worthless -- only that the romanticized image of "the intellectual life" ought to be laid to rest.
 

--Are you determined to teach on the university level? In many ways, this is the only compelling reason to pursue a PhD. 

 

--Are you good at seeking out mentors -- even to the point of making a slight nuisance of yourself? I had never struggled to connect with mentors in the past, so I didn't realize this was a problem until rather late in the game. The difference was that, at earlier stages of my education, I was swimming in smaller ponds and drew mentors to myself with seemingly little effort. I took it for granted that I would always find someone who understood my goals, with whom I could communicate well. In grad school, however, I never learned how to take the initiative to find that person. It never occurred to me to drop by a professor's office unless I was seriously struggling. So, I'm not a great person to advise on this, except to suggest that you enter grad school with a networking mindset instead of expecting to be taken under someone's wing. (This may have something to do with the male-dominated environment of many programs. I don't know.)

--If you have struggled with depression and/or anxiety in the past, remember that grad school offers triggers aplenty. Get a support system in place from the very beginning, even if that simply means finding a general practitioner you trust. Try to take these steps before you'll need them, because when you're in the thicket of a depression, reaching out for those resources will feel like a monumental task. Please don't take it lightly -- a Ph.D. isn't worth wrecking your health. Even if you aren't especially susceptible to these things, learn to be comfortable asking for help and making a distinction between your academic success and your self-worth.

Choosing a Program (a.k.a. Departmental Politics)

--A cheerful campus visit doesn't necessarily tell you much about the culture/dynamics of a department. Consider that disaffected faculty or students may not be hanging around where you can see them. If a demoralized student must come to campus, trust me, she'll try to avoid the entire half of campus where she might run into colleagues and be forced to exchange academic pleasantries. (You can sometimes spot these individuals -- they're the thirty-somethings slinking shame-facedly across campus with tote bags full of overdue library books.) It's hard to suggest a way around this, except to encourage you to seek contact with students who have been in the program for several years; don't just have coffee with some starry-eyed first-years and assume you have a read of the campus climate. (More seasoned students are probably less plugged into campus activities and therefore less likely to be involved in outreach to prospective students.)

--Any department committed to placing graduates in jobs will give you opportunities to gain teaching skills. Will your department offer you work as a Teaching Assistant, at minimum? At whose discretion are these, and adjunct positions, assigned? Are there any invisible hoops you'll be expected to jump through, or people whose good opinion you'll need to secure, in order to get these assignments? Again, these are questions to raise with students who've reached Candidacy status.

--Has the department redesigned its program recently, or are they in the process of doing so? Ask questions and proceed with caution, especially if this has occurred multiple times in recent memory. (Over the course of six years in my program, the program was restructured numerous times depending on who was in charge. This meant that a student handbook was never completed, and things like exam reading lists were difficult to get one's hands on in a timely manner. It produced needless frustration and anxiety among students.) If a program is seeking to increase their profile among other programs, or if even a few faculty have this ambition, it becomes easier for struggling students to fall through the cracks.

Choosing an Advisor

--Picking an advisor can be so difficult, because your classroom interaction with a professor isn't necessarily the best indicator for how an advising relationship will go. Simply hearing them talk about their standards and expectations for the advising relationship isn't enough, because reality doesn't always match aspirations. The more relevant question is: do they have a track record of successful advising?  Don't hesitate to ask a potential advisor up front how many dissertations they've advised to completion -- you have every right to know. Can you speak with some current and former advisees about their experiences? Remember that you can always ask a relatively untested faculty member to serve on your dissertation committee, and even work closely with them, without banking on him or her to be the gatekeeper for your future career. In general, be cautious about asking a freshly tenured faculty member to be your primary advisor, even (or especially?) if they're a rising star.

--Be very clear with your intended advisor about such things as frequency of meetings, amount of written feedback to expect, and his or her availability over the summer.

--Encouragement is important. There is a well-known ex-academic blogger who writes something to the effect that you should avoid choosing the kindly advisor who remembers your birthday and bakes you cookies. There may be some truth to this, especially for the career-minded student in a ruthless market. However, an advisor should be a fundamentally decent human being with a teaspoon of empathy (e.g., he or she recognizes that there is life outside of academia), or it's probably not worth the suffering.

 

--Do you have at least two (TENURED) backup possibilities in case something goes awry? One backup in case advising goes poorly, another in case someone retires abruptly, etc.?

--Are there procedures to follow if something goes poorly with your advisor? Especially if your advisor is someone you like and have enjoyed working with in the past, it's easy to think, "That won't happen to me." Not to mention, this person is probably a major reason you chose this Ph.D. program (i.e., you basically uprooted your life for them). But consider having a conversation about what to do if things aren't going well, and at what point to make that determination (hint: earlier is better!). Though it will be awkward, your professor and department should be willing to let you switch to someone else, if it means the difference between your finishing or not.

 

--Even if your intended advisor says they don't want to give you a topic, don't take that at face value -- they want you to work on something that's interesting to them and that's in their methodological wheelhouse. I suspect that much can be forgiven or glossed over if you're writing something they're personally invested in seeing published. Take this into account when deciding who to work with.

 

--If your advisor was a "golden boy" (or girl) in graduate school and is relatively young in career, it's worth thinking about whether they understand what it is like to struggle academically. It's a bit galling to hear from a tenured, much-honored, up-and-coming professor that "You tried, there's no shame in walking away," or "Sometimes it's the more courageous thing to let go."

 

--Will your advisor be sufficiently invested in your success to vouch for and support you if your path to scholarship doesn't unfold in a traditional way, or in the way they would prefer? Again, sadly, this can be difficult to discern at the outset. Going back a couple of years, I recall being asked things like, "Is this what you really want to be doing?" or "Does the thought of quitting bring relief?" Not bad questions, in and of themselves, but I now see how they helped to undermine my confidence from an early stage. I don't recall hearing things like, "This is a bit of a mess right now, but you've put a lot of effort in, and we'd like to see you graduate, so let's figure out how to make that happen." Hearing something like that would have meant a great deal to me and possibly been a turning point toward graduating. I was actually a bit shocked when I heard that advisors who say such things allegedly exist!

--To put it more succinctly: don't pick an advisor who will make it their business to decide if you belong in the field/on the market or not. Find out up front--will they do what they can to help you finish your degree, even if your dissertation isn't Oxford University Press material? Do they recognize that not everyone wants the same things from their academic experience and future career?

 

Again, so much of this is reflective of my own particular struggles and disappointments. Plenty of people have had dramatically different experiences. To sum it up, though: don't be idealistic about the dynamics you'll encounter in academia. Only you can decide if the Ph.D. is ultimately worth it to you.

The Final "Dissertation Notes."

When I last updated about ten weeks ago, I was coming to grips with my advisor’s rejection of my dissertation drafts and the dilemma this presented. It was the beginning of a slow, stressful, at times surprisingly gracious process of figuring out what to do next—both what was possible and what I actually wanted.

To simplify the story: I felt it worthwhile to try to find common ground with my advisor, but we couldn’t come to an agreement about the way the past year or two have unfolded, much less the advisability (…in more than one sense) of my trying to forge ahead. I spoke with various people both inside and outside the department, trying to determine if there was a way around the impasse, but also just wanting others to hear what happened. (I’m aware of a couple instances of greater injustice my colleagues have experienced, and it doesn’t seem there’s been much help for them.) While I hope these conversations won’t prove entirely unfruitful, they didn’t yield a clear fix for my situation. This was largely what I had expected. While I could have gone through a review process that didn’t include my advisor, it became clear that this wouldn’t solve much, and that I was unlikely to receive much guidance toward finishing my dissertation, even if I somehow won approval to keep going. By March, it looked like my options were to withdraw from the program “voluntarily” or be dismissed. At the last minute, I asked if I could at least wrangle a Master’s degree out of the deal, which met with a surprisingly positive response, and let me avoid the pain of officially dropping out. So I am graduating, just not with the degree I wanted. It’s certainly a better outcome than I had come to expect, and I am grateful for that. Leaving with a diploma is so much better than walking away with nothing to show for my time at this university.

I am almost unbearably conflict-averse, so facing this ordeal was really, really difficult, even when parts of it were conducted over email. (Seriously, I've never felt so physically ill over hitting "Send" before.) A few years ago, I would likely have let myself be strung along indefinitely, or pushed out without a fight. I certainly don't think I would have asked for the Master's. So I hope my overall handling of the situation is itself a positive.

I do not want to suggest that I was faultless in the way this mess unfolded. There are numerous things I could have done differently and better, dating back to the spring of 2012. I’m also certain that, in his mind, my advisor did everything he reasonably could to support and motivate me toward finishing. I suspect it was a glaring mismatch from the beginning—something I couldn’t have known when I moved here to work with him in 2010. If I could have found a way to get a different advisor (something that faculty turnover made virtually impossible), things might have turned out very differently. There were unwise choices, as well as a series of unhelpful developments that just happen in graduate programs.

Not all of those were without unintended blessings. In 2014 a (different) department chair had made a unilateral decision, based on his classroom interactions with me, that I shouldn’t work as an adjunct instructor or even a Teaching Assistant. Regardless of the rightness or wrongness of his assessment, perhaps God used that disappointment to prepare me for later ones. At that point, I started detaching myself from the fantasy of becoming a college professor; I settled into my library job and didn’t really look back. So when it became clear that I wasn’t going to graduate with a Ph.D., it was easier to accept the closing of the door on one avenue of employment. It was even a bit of a relief—the academic job market is terrifying! Still, I might have made a good teacher, or learned to be one—will I ever have the opportunity to find out for sure?

Similarly, I probably won’t have the opportunity to publish a book in my favorite series of academic monographs, Oxford Studies in Historical Theology. Whatever my advisor’s estimation of my abilities, I think perhaps I could have done it. These are the kinds of things that are especially painful to reflect upon, and make me wonder if I will ever be able to think back on the failed dissertation and doctorate without sadness. It isn’t so much about the loss of the title and status of “Dr.”

Some of this ties into the way that graduate school and the academic vocation colonize your identity. I was always adamant that this would not happen to me, but it’s quite difficult to resist assimilation into that mindset, and to extricate yourself from it when it proves necessary. People have often lost jobs and/or changed careers by the time they are my age (multiple times, even). But somehow, after sinking your entire young adulthood into academics, you become convinced that it’s the only thing you can do, and you reach a point where it’s hard to say which is the more horrible prospect: prolonging the struggle in the slim hope of landing that teaching position, or breaking free into the unknown. The latter takes on an aspect of existential failure that is absurd on its face, yet so difficult to shake.

I can say that I am feeling more hopeful than bitter or ungrateful. The dream was to pursue a Ph.D., and I got to do that, and gain much in the process. It brought us to a life in St. Louis in which we are content. There are disquieting moments when I ponder that I am 33 years old, yet my sense of what I am truly good at, and what I genuinely like doing, is possibly more clouded than it was in my youth, not less. But I am trying to be thankful that I am not in charge of the bigger picture; and, in a way, it isn’t even my business how God will ultimately use me. It isn’t about finding an idealized “fit,” or even about me, but about God being glorified in my weakness and failures. And about serving him with thankfulness, even if it doesn’t measure up to the peculiarly overhyped notion of “doing what you love.”

This is not to suggest that I consistently wax philosophical about this. My emotions don’t always reflect what I think—or hope—is the truth of the situation. I’m still struggling with anxiety. But—the Lord is faithful. That means something real, even when it doesn’t feel like much. As my pastor Ben wrote to me awhile back, "Who knows how much satisfaction we'll get out of it in this life, but whatever we may say, we can know this: it will not have been futile.  He is putting futility in the grave and redeeming every last wincing effort on our parts. . . . If that's not true, then none of it is."

* * * 

I really enjoyed the weekly dissertation blogging last fall. I always looked forward to it and never found it a burden. From where I sit now, it’s difficult to imagine coming up with enough ideas to sustain a weekly blogging habit. It might be that this season of life just doesn’t lend itself to this particular medium. Still, I hadn’t imagined that writing about my dissertation would temporarily revive my blog, so I guess we will see. I appreciate everyone who took the time to follow along—I’m still kind of amazed that more than three people read those posts!

I do have some lingering thoughts about graduate school in general (what can I say . . . it's hard to let go!), so I will probably write those soon.

Looking Back on 2013

What follows is not an exhaustive review of 2013, but just a few impressions that have stuck with me about my year.

Home & friends

This year has seen several changes. The first was moving to a new neighborhood. I was initially upset at the prospect of moving from a location in which we had been comfortable for nearly three years. It seemed to portend changes in other routines in which I felt secure. As it turned out, the new apartment (and the relative ease of finding it!) have been an example of God's provision for us. Even though I was not excited to move from the edge of the suburbs into St. Louis proper, we have found the new place to be a better deal and a more suitable situation than we would likely have sought out otherwise. Living in South City is pretty much like living anywhere else that we have lived together, though a bit of a trek from church and most of our friends.

One of the happy outcomes of our move, however, has been living closer to my friend Rebekah. It has been lovely to connect for more than one cramped lunch-hour per week, and our friendship has flourished more than ever. This fall Bekah launched a Psalm-singing group which has proven to be a delightful occasion for fellowship. One day we were discussing Rosaria Butterfield's book, and just a few days later, my friend cheerfully announced that a stack of psalters had arrived in the mail and that we were all invited over for singing and dessert the next Lord's Day evening! It is one of the many reasons I love this girl. I hope the group will draw more interest in the coming year.

Speaking of fellowship, one of the very hardest things has been saying goodbye to the Cowans. Since we met in the same small group at our pastor's house in 2011, Coralie, Jonathan, and their family have become some of our dearest friends. We felt sought out by them, even though we weren't a seminary family like them and many others in our church, and we'd been attending the Kirk for several months longer than they had. It meant so much for me and Kevin to be invited into the life of a family in this way, something I don't think either of us realized we missed and longed for after years of frequent moves and the rootlessness of student life.

This month the Cowans moved to New Brunswick where Jonathan will be pastoring a church, an opportunity the Lord has clearly prepared them for. Even having prayed for such a thing and knowing what a blessing it would be for them and for Christ's church, I was caught off guard by how painful the reality of distance can be -- that even when it accompanies something beautifully right, the loss of proximity somehow feels wrong. I suppose it has something to do with that sense of home and presence that marked our time together.

The most wonderful thing, though, has been the way that spending time with them has consistently moved us to love Christ more. It is a precious thing to have friends who make Jesus more beautiful to you, and that is something that won't change or fade. Even though the feeling of presence will no longer be quite the same, I hope God will teach us to extend hospitality to others as has been graciously done for us, and as I know the Cowans will continue doing in their new church.

Academics & depression

In light of multiple changes, it isn't surprising that, this year, St. Louis didn't feel as much like the haven we imagined it to be when we first arrived. While the Lord was gracious to bring us here, His purpose wasn't necessarily to shelter us from hard things.

One case in point is that this year felt like being stuck in a rut. It's easy to exaggerate, because on one hand, I successfully defended my dissertation topic and advanced to ABD/candidacy status, which is a major milestone! I am so thankful to have reached this point after months of struggle and uncertainty, and to have the opportunity to write a dissertation in my field after more than a decade of working toward this point.

On the other hand, I experienced an almost overwhelming sense of stagnation this year. It's as if my passion, creativity, and focus have seeped out little by little, along with the facility with language and love of study I've depended on for as long as I can remember. Reading and writing have become wearisome in a way that they never were before. It is dispiriting, even humiliating, to feel as if the gifts I have spent my entire adulthood, really my entire life, exclusively cultivating and building much of my identity around are slipping from my grasp. Attempts at tweaking my routine and "just trying harder" have mostly amounted to finding new ways to fail and become discouraged.

One factor is depression. I believe I've been seriously depressed over the past year, and likely longer than that. It's nothing new; it's been recurrent through much of my adult life, and rather than being strictly situational, it probably has a physical basis that is triggered by anxieties and other factors. It can be fairly manageable, but I've dealt with it better at some points than at others. This past year was not one of the better times. Ironically, the best way to not let chronic depression define me is not to avoid admitting or dealing with the problem, but to confront it head-on. Seems pretty obvious, right? Somehow, though, in the thick of it, it just isn't.

The worst thing about depression, for me, is the overall sense of uselessness it brings. When I am unable to work well, my confidence that I have something to contribute plummets, and I start to feel like dead weight wherever I go, whether at school, at church, even hanging out with friends. As you might imagine, after awhile, that feeling erodes any sense of connection to community. It is hard to believe that I bring anything of value to others when my mind and emotions seem to be perpetually out of whack. Hopefully, with treatment, I'll start feeling like my old self soon, these feelings will fade, and I'll be more capable of connecting to people again. And I am getting help with the symptoms, so while I am grateful for understanding and support (VERY grateful -- I know that another person's depression can be frustrating to sympathize with, even if one has experienced it personally), you don't need to be too worried about me. You could pray that I will regain my ability to concentrate so that I can progress on my dissertation, and maybe that I'll regain some of my love of writing in the process.

Looking toward next year

Thankfully, I've never lost sight of my manifold blessings -- a husband who loves me so well (who would have thought that would happen for me?!), a supportive family, a comfortable home, a church where I can count on being fed with the Word every single week.

While part of me just wants to say good riddance to 2013, and to wish that even if things don't become less hard, at least they might be a different kind of hard, I'm content with whatever God will use to mold us into better servants of His church. I am trusting Him to reign well over my life, as He does over all things.

The state of the dissertation is . . . tenuous. But I'm hanging in there.

If you've followed my dissertation posts over the past year, you know that nothing about this process has been easy. That's continued to hold true, as I have long exceeded the timeframe within which I had hoped to defend my dissertation topic and begin writing chapters. Two weeks ago, I failed my first attempt to defend my topic to my committee. I'll have another shot, so right now I am trying to make some revisions that were suggested to me at the defense. If I can submit passable revisions within two weeks, then I will be in a much better position and might even be able to begin writing.

One of the issues that was brought up surrounding my defense was whether I have enough passion to sustain this project. Maybe that is supposed to be a straightforward question, but I have never found it to be so. Even at the point (two years ago . . . a time I've been foolishly longing for of late) when I could unhesitatingly say that I enjoyed my academic work, my enthusiasm and energy could vary considerably over the course of a given week, subject to so many factors of mood and circumstance. I really don't know how to quantify something like "passion."

If it's a question of whether I can muster the perseverance to write a good dissertation, then I believe I can. And I know that even if I struggle all the way through the painful dissertating transition from student to "scholar," that doesn't necessarily mean I can't be a great teacher. If anything, some failures along the way might help mold me into a better teacher.

All the same, I do wonder if my committee is onto something, in that I think I might be a better theology nerd/avid hobbyist than theology scholar. Maybe I'll write more about this at another time. I assure you the distinction means something in my mind, even if I'm not quite able to articulate it yet.

Anyway, no matter what happens or what I discover about myself as a scholar in the next few weeks, I can say that the past few years of graduate study have been a wonderful privilege, I wouldn't trade them, and most importantly I believe that God is using them and will continue to use them. It hasn't been a waste. I'm so grateful for everyone's kind interest, support, and ongoing prayers along the way. I'll keep you posted.

Thoughts on turning 30

Today my pastor quoted from this 1889 sermon by Charles Spurgeon. I found this excerpt particularly resonant:

I would suggest to everyone here to cry to the Lord to make us conscious of our natural barrenness. Gracious ones, may the Lord make us mourn our comparative barrenness, even if we do bear some fruit. To feel quite satisfied with yourself is perilous: to feel that you are holy, and indeed that you are perfect, is to be on the brink of the pit of pride. If you hold your head so high, I am afraid you will strike it against the top of the doorway. If you walk on stilts, I fear you will fall. It is a safer thing to feel, "Lord, I do serve thee, and I am no deceiver. I do love thee; thou hast wrought the works of the Spirit in me. But alas! I am not what I want to be, I am not what I ought to be. I aspire to holiness: help me to attain it. Lord, I would lie in the very dust before thee to think that after being digged about and dunged, as I have been, I should bear such little fruit. I feel myself less than nothing. My cry is, "God be merciful to me."

I didn't have too many expectations of what turning 30 would be like. I don't think I expected the last bit of my 20s to feel so empty; so low on hope and direction. I can't pretend to understand what God might be doing in all of that. It does seem that He has been removing things that I have looked to for security and self-definition, and using that process to expose my sin and great need of Him. I know that is a gracious and grateful thing for Him to do. It isn't always easy to feel and acknowledge it as such.

My twenties were turbulent in some ways -- I guess that's not unusual -- and I'm experiencing something I might describe as introspection fatigue. The "who am I and what am I doing?" questions might be healthy for a time, but even though the answers seem far less resolved than I had hoped they would be at this age, I am weary of focusing on myself. I long to pour myself out, but at the same time, I'm becoming painfully aware of how empty I truly am. I don't know what's there for me to give.

The only cure for that I can think of, and the only goal I would dare to venture for the coming decade, is for Jesus to become greater before my sight, greater than my own troubled spirit. I hope and pray that as I become more fixed on Christ, His love would become so much more real to me that the identity questions, the insecurities and fears, would echo less and less insistently. Maybe then I can start to be freed up to love His people more and grow in the desire to serve His church. Would you pray this for me? I can't think of a better birthday gift.

I don't know what to expect in the coming years, except that I am certain there will be challenges; on my best days, I'm dazed by their number and scope. At those times, I can only pour out my anxiety and vexation to the Lord and ask Him to remember me. At such times, He mercifully reminds me of what He has done in the past. Today, for example, I spent my birthday going to church and hanging out with my husband. It hit me just how shocking those two things would have been to my twenty-year-old self, when I couldn't have wanted less to do with the church, and couldn't have fathomed that in a little more than five years, I'd have a husband. The Holy Spirit has been at work in me, in ways that have always been beyond my prediction and my petitions -- and He still is! Fed by that promise, I can go my way with a glad heart.
 

Odds & ends in January

Traditionally, January has been one of my least favorite times of year. The transition from rest and family to the prospect of unbroken weeks of stressful obligations is wrenching. At least that's how it has usually felt. But even though coming back to St. Louis after Christmas was pretty painful, this January hasn't been quite so bad. I wouldn't say it's categorically wonderful, either. It's just been odd.

For one thing, it has continued to feel as if God's been gently shaking loose my attachments to some things...my expectations and daydreams of how I think my short-term future would best unfold. As if, just when I imagined myself comfortable, God started shaking up some of the lesser things as if to steel me for bigger ones.

To give an innocuous example, we will likely need to search for a new apartment in the next few months. Wasn't expecting that. I had pictured us staying put for as long as we could, perhaps even for the duration of our time in St. Louis. But now I'm not sure where we're going to be living. The odd thing is how comparatively little I've been stressing over that. It hasn't been sitting heavily on my chest like these things often do. I can't say I'm excited by the possibility of moving further into the city, if indeed that turns out to be necessary. But whatever we end up needing to do, I feel mostly at peace about it...at least for now.

For another thing, my husband is starting to pursue the process toward ordination in earnest, which is actually a wonderful development and an answer to prayer. I'm very proud of his perseverance in the process, and as I think about him beginning to work on internship requirements, I feel confident that God is going to be bringing about great things for His purposes. But that's the thing...I hadn't pictured myself being included in those purposes. Ministry has always been something that other people do; that category of "other people" has expanded enough in my mind to include my husband, but I have only the blurriest concept of how it would include me. I have enjoyed picturing myself as the wife of a professor and myself a professor, and all that would mean for our life together. I just can't picture myself in the role of a pastor's wife. This is not to say I'm resistant, exactly; it's simply beyond my imagining. I was telling a friend today that I still feel puzzled sometimes by my personality and what God could be doing with it; I suppose I tend to think of it in terms of limitation rather than gift. But I know that God didn't haphazardly assign me to a family and church I would be unable to serve; and my temperament, the things I love and the ways I encounter the world are not accidents either. This is another area where I have to walk by faith on a daily basis.

In summary, a lot of things feel open-ended right now. There's this waiting feeling. Even more than before, I'm being asked to trust without being able to see far ahead. (Or while my imagined scenarios are being lovingly papered over with something real.) Surrounded by the love of Christ's people, I certainly don't feel alone or without hope. It's unsettling, though. And just odd.

State of the Dissertation update

One of the purposes of this blog is to provide a glimpse of what an academic's life looks like. To be honest, I'm not sure that's a picture I'm eager to share with you right now (at least not of this academic's life!). But I can at least tell you what I'm working on these days.

In my program, after all coursework and exams have been completed, the third year is devoted to writing something I've heard variously referred to as the "programmatic essay," the "dissertation proposal," or the "dissertation prospectus." Our program has undergone so many changes in recent years that I'm not entirely certain which of those terms I'm "supposed" to use, but for now, we'll just call it the proposal.

The dissertation proposal is what it sounds like: a document (in this case, no more than 25 pages) that proposes my chosen topic to a committee of faculty, including a justification for that topic (demonstrating that the field needs my research), my tentative argument, and an outline of the means I will use to prove that argument. Of course, at this stage, many aspects of this will be tentative. However, I need to satisfy the committee that my project is really something I can write a 200-page dissertation about.

One of my worst nightmares about this program was that I would arrive in my third year not knowing what I wanted to write about. It would be way too dramatic for me to claim that nightmare has come true. At no point have I been completely lost. Still, it has taken much longer, more discouragement, and more revisions to arrive at a topic than I had hoped (about six months). My topic is not yet at a stage that I'm prepared to unveil it publicly, but hopefully soon. :-)

I think there are several reasons it's been disappointingly hard to narrow down my topic; I won't delve into them all here. One conclusion I've reached, though, is that my dissertation will not be my dream project (and likely shouldn't be). The goal of the dissertation is to prove that I can undertake independent scholarly research on a high level. So the topic should be 1.) achievable and 2.) something I am content working on for two or three years. I don't expect to be in love with it (and it's a little late for that)...but I do hope I can sustain a reasonable amount of interest in it, for obvious reasons.

So, to break it down less wordily, the coming year should look like this:
Now-December: Drafting dissertation proposal
Sometime early in 2013: Presenting and defending proposal to a small committee
The remainder of Spring semester 2013: Completing research and starting to write the dissertation in earnest.

As for the nuts and bolts of it...it's really weird not being in classes anymore (with the exception of a seminar that meets Mondays to help us third-year students write our proposals). I think it takes a rare, exceptionally driven and disciplined student to manage the transition from coursework to dissertation gracefully. I can already tell you that is not me. I've had many more discouraged days than hopeful and productive ones, so far. But with God's grace I persevere. :-)

Spring Semester 2012: Check!

For those who haven't heard, I wanted to officially post that, as of May 14, I completed my last semester of regular coursework. In the past few days, I also received word that I passed both my Greek and comprehensive exams, meaning that I was able to get through everything I'd aimed to accomplish this semester in order to be free and clear to pursue dissertation work. I am very relieved. I'm also thankful for the loving support of my husband, family, friends, and academic colleagues, without whom I'm sure I couldn't have done it.

Right now, I'm having a break for a couple of weeks. In June, I'll start transitioning into research mode. It will look a bit different from anything I've done so far because it will be more self-structured. I think I need to expect some trial and error in figuring out how I work best without someone else handing me a syllabus. (I mean, subtracting the two years in Berkeley, I have been taking classes for twenty-two years of my life!) But I'm generally looking forward to it, and my goal for the summer is to complete a draft of my dissertation proposal so that I can, I hope, get my topic formally approved in the fall.

This is the stage I've worked toward for many years, so it's really pretty exciting. My school is essentially saying, "You no longer need to pass exams or attend seminars or write papers to prove that you're capable of scholarly work." I can tell you that I have my own doubts, but I've really no choice but to take their word for it! I also know that, for all that the past four semesters has been a trial by fire (it has honestly felt like a series of hazing rituals at times!), the next step, of writing my own book, is going to be even more daunting in some ways.

But I'm very glad to be here, and again, I'm thankful to everyone who has helped make it possible for me to pursue this work, including praying me through this especially difficult semester. I love and appreciate each of you very much!

A January Story, Part I

I don't handle Januaries terrifically well. The transition from weeks of exclusive home and family time to full-time school, with all its attendant stresses, fills me with anxiety and dread more often than not. I start wondering why I ever thought an academic career was a good idea. Even though I've weathered January transitions many times before, I feel convinced that this time, it will prove to have been a terrible mistake.

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Last night as I struggled to fall asleep, I remembered a particularly awful January transition in the past. It was January 2, 2004. I was 20, and I had just arrived in Edinburgh, Scotland, for a five-month study abroad program.

Through most of the long British Airways flight, I was fairly calm, even cautiously excited. Studying in Scotland was the fulfillment of a lifelong dream, and I was finally going! Even the terrible inner-ear pressure during the descent into Edinburgh didn't ruin my pleasure at seeing the gray, snow-covered hills and realizing I was probably the first of my family to lay eyes on this land in many generations.

By the time I'd gathered my luggage and joined the rest of my study abroad cohort, however, I started to feel self-conscious and worried. I realized something: they all knew each other. Well, not everyone. (As I was later to discover, there was one other solo traveler, a fellow reticent Sarah, who would be responsible for some of my happiest adventures in Scotland.) But the vast majority of kids had traveled in contingents from their home universities, so they had friends with them. They chatted buoyantly on the coach that took us from the airport to the hotel where our orientation would be held. Meanwhile, I was the only Hollins woman, the only theology nerd as far as I knew, and the only one hailing from a tiny Southern college with fewer than 1,000 students.

Suddenly, it really began to hit me that I was at least 3,500 miles from home. I didn't know a soul on this island.* And I was going to be stuck here for almost half a year.

 I started crying. It seemed to be the only way I could grapple with the crushing isolation and uncertainty I felt. Silently, and as inconspicuously as I knew how, I cried through the better part of the next 24 hours: I cried while the group of New England coeds sitting near me in the hotel lobby talked about Edinburgh pubs and how awesome it was that we could legally drink here. I cried while the study abroad staff gave us all the basic settling-in details, such as how to matriculate, where to get photo IDs taken (what suddenly sounded like insurmountable tasks), and how we must never call Scottish people "Brits." (Did people really not know this?!) I cried when I noticed that my hotel roommate looked vaguely like my best friend, from a certain angle. I even teared up when a friendly Scottish man spilled part of his cereal onto my tray at breakfast the next morning and fell all over himself apologizing.

I probably couldn't have put into words why I felt so overwhelmingly emotional. It's not as if I had never traveled independently before, or even that it was the first time I had traveled overseas. But I had never been both overseas and totally alone. Unlike my father, who at my age had circled the globe a couple of times and survived war zones, I'd never gone for more than a couple of months without seeing my family. I felt terribly out of my element, I was far too shy to engage in more than a few phrases with anyone around me, and there was an entire ocean between me and everything I loved.

Do you know how exhausting it is to cry like a leaky faucet for hours upon hours -- all the while laboring to conceal your disgrace from everyone around you? It's demoralizing in a big way. And, I suspect, probably nowhere near as successful as I hoped. By that time, though, I was too sad to care.

I found respite that night when we were finally dismissed to our hotel rooms; at least now I had a pillow to soak up my seemingly endless supply. And I had a little silence in which to think. I realized there was no way I could stay in Scotland. It was simply too much, too hard. Apparently I wasn't cut out for a trip of this magnitude by myself. While it would be embarrassing to admit defeat and re-enroll at Hollins for the semester, I could think of nothing that sounded more appealing. At the earliest non-awkward opportunity, I would talk to the study abroad staff and explain that I needed to book a flight home as soon as possible.

~ ~

No, the story doesn't end here. And yes, it ends on a MUCH more hopeful note, as you probably already know! But you'll have to wait for Part II to read the rest. :-)

*Had I known that my future husband would be landing at Heathrow less than a week later, to spend the next three months 300 miles away from me at Oxford, would it have comforted me at all? I wasn't to know that for another few years. :-)