Tag Archives: grad school

Giving failure a high five

“Oh, hi, Failure! Did you change your hair? A new outfit? I almost didn’t recognize you!”

I thought I’d gotten to know failure pretty well, after spending the better part of the last year learning that anticipated outcomes are guaranteed to change. I worked to recognize that anything worth doing is worth doing poorly, and realized that it is better to succeed at failing than failing to succeed. I had gotten an ‘A’ in the art of failure.

Or so I thought.

Despite trying to bring the message of failing forward to my graduate community, of discussing radical vulnerability as a vital element of collaboration and research praxis, of learning that my self worth is not tied to outcomes, of embracing that failure is an inherent (and welcome!) part of the graduate school experience (if we adjust our expectations to welcome it!)… amidst all of these exercises and conversations, these adventures into the art of failing gracefully, I had forgotten how to recognize and embrace failure in other parts of my life.

Higher education, and graduate education in particular, systematically mark failure as negative. With limited contact with faculty advisers, we often only hear feedback if we’ve done something exceedingly well (i.e. validating our self-worth with positive outcomes), or if we’ve done something exceedingly wrong (i.e. doubting self-worth and belongingness in our departments/fields/careers because of negative outcomes). This extends further into how we educate our undergraduate students. As a recent post in the Chronicle of Higher Ed pointed out, the bias against failure is deeply engrained into how we evaluate students, how we structure assignments, and how we discuss the learning process.

This fall, I set out to unlearn my negativity bias towards failure in the academy. It meant letting go of seeing a tenure track job as the only sign of success. It meant learning how I assess success on my own terms. It meant recognizing that there would be (and have been, and will continue to be) roadblocks along the way that trip me up, make me stumble, where I don’t always ‘get an A’. I was definitely learning to fail at being an all-star academic; I was learning to fail at being an ever-present member of my graduate community; I was learning to fail at identifying and articulating my own needs, especially to an audience that isn’t primed to hear that kind of language.

Given how deeply this failure-bias pervades higher ed, there were many opportunities to practice throughout the last year… Didn’t get accepted to teach the new class on Nonprofits that I spent 2 weeks developing with all of my heart and soul? Not a problem: I get to choose how I respond to such changes in my expectations! Fantastically gaffing up the AAG presentation this year because of technological woes? What an opportunity to recognize that my self-worth isn’t tied to the outcomes of how well technology operates in a session that bears my name! Forgetting everything about everyone I’ve ever read in geography during my Generals defense? Fantastic! What a way to recognize the humor and humility and imperfection that comes with new experiences.

All of this is to say, it is no wonder that I’ve come to view failure through a pretty narrow lens. And, along the way, I’ve forgotten how to identify (and embrace) opportunities for failure in other parts of my life.

I read a lot of food blogs, I live in an incredibly fit and healthy city, I eat on a mostly Paleo/Primal template because it has proven to be what makes my body and mind feel best, I am surrounded by a group of highly entrepreneurial friends, I have a large, dynamic network of absolutely incredible women in my life (near and far), and I am a graduate student in one of the strongest geography departments in the country, under two of the most brilliant women I’ll ever have the pleasure to know (this sounds hyperbolic, but I guarantee, it is not).

Who am I kidding? Against this backdrop, of course I am setting myself up for failure! Because I have created a landscape of unreasonable expectations based on amalgamations and abstractions of many individuals into an unrealistic whole. Even though I know, empathically, that all of the individuals in each of these realms has their own struggles, imperfections and shame tapes, I’ve still developed my metrics for success against a set of unrealistic paradigms. It is patently false that every person in Seattle runs every day, that those Paleo food bloggers never have cupcakes, that every other grad student knows how to write grant proposals, that all of my friends have amazing partners, or that I am the only kid on the block not brewing my own kombucha.

So, with this realization, I’m going to try to give failure a high five. I’ll say, “of course I’ll have a cupcake, because it’s Kori’s birthday! ” I say, “no, I will not run today, because it literally just rained 2 inches in 36 hours, and y’all are crazy”, and I will say, “I actually have no idea how I’m going to fund my dissertation work, but thanks to my entrepreneurial friends, I’m starting to figure it out!” Failure, in all parts of life, not just graduate school, is par for the course.

I won’t stop giving my soapbox pitch for embracing failure within the academy. This feels more important to me ever, as we lose too many bright and amazing graduate students who see their dis-ease with the academy as a sign of failure, and thus, as a sign that they should leave. That said, now that I’ve spent a solid amount of time learning how to fail at grad school, I think it’s time I learn and embrace failure in the other parts of my life. Not as a sign of weakness or a problem, but as an inevitable step in learning to be a more wholehearted, vulnerable and connected individual. Failure means I’m trying new things. It means I’m learning, and it means that I’m imperfect and human.

Synergies and Satisfaction: Finishing my Exams!

To those unfamiliar with the process of academic qualifying exams, they go something like this:

1) figure out what areas of [your academic discipline] you want to specialize in (i.e. moving forward, what are the subject areas within [discipline] that will most inform the dissertation project?)
2) write up a big ole’ statement about how those 3-ish areas inform your work
3) give said statement to your committee (usually 3 faculty), who each generate a question for you to answer. the questions are based on a gap in the statement, or an area the committee wants to push you towards
4) write fully cited essay responses to said questions in a short amount of time (for me, it was three 10-page essays in three days.)
5) sleep for days.
6) at some point, have an oral defense with your committee for an hour and a half of very hard, direct, on-the-spot questions.
6a) sweat bullets. say awkward things. watch committee cringe and try and help you along.
7) with any luck, PASS exams, and become a PhC (candidate for the doctorate)
8) go out for drinks with all of your academic friends
9) then research and write a g-damn dissertation. oof-dah.

As of today, I’ve done parts 1-5, but am waiting for parts 6-infinity for another week (+beyond). My statement detailed my interest in exploring the model of social justice philanthropy (SJP) through three lenses:
1) state restructuring: with the rise of nonprofits, and the simultaneous shrinking of assets, how is social justice philanthropy mobilizing for social change? how is it similar or different than existing models of philanthropy and social service provision?
2) critical poverty studies: what assumptions and beliefs does social justice philanthropy practice that challenge dominant, individualized and pathologizing discourses about poverty? In other words, how do SJP organizations understand poverty, and what do they believe they can do to change it?
3) political geographies and subjectivities: who are the people engaging with SJP? at what scale are they enacting politics? how do the practices of SJP challenge or contest more national level beliefs about the ‘best practices’ of new philanthropy?

So I got questions back that loosely fit into those narratives and questions. I was encouraged to think about my own epistemology (how I see the world), my methodology (how will I look at ‘discourse’? how will I remain open to engaging the possible rather than critiquing the limits?), and about the contradictions and position of *any* philanthropic engagement (i.e. the fact that philanthropy, by its very nature, relies on unequal distribution of wealth as a means to try and solve the problems created by unequal distribution of wealth…)

So I donned my coyote hat (one of my birthday gifts from a friend), hoisted a hefty backpack with my laptop, wireless mouse and keyboard, and lots of books, and I split my 3 days between Office Nomads and WeWork. I packed good food. I got good sleep. I made sure to exercise and not work more than 8 hours a day. I watched an episode of Sherlock every night. I wrote sitting down, I wrote standing up. I wrote while dancing. I took some naps, and I texted and g-chatted with fellow PhD students near and far. I called my parents with updates and posted at least one self-congratulatory facebook post.

And you know what? I had fun with it all. Really and truly. I think this is a testament to the fact my program is an extremely good fit for me, and that my committee knows me well. And that I am a huge nerd at heart.

I also think I was ready to be pushed, to truly develop my ideas. To dig deep and think hard. The questions were incredibly productive. That said, by the end of the three days, my brain was mush. It took me at least a full week to recover my thinking capacity.

But when I woke up a few days later, I thought, “huh. what was all the fuss about? one day I woke up and started writing, and 3 days later I was done.”

The tendency is to build this whole process up SO MUCH. To stress about all of the reading to do, the work to prepare, the elusive ‘readiness’ that one should feel before writing the exams. However, I decided early on to try and avoid this stress. To just read in an incredibly focused way, and to take thorough notes. I decided to start writing the statement, and that if I came upon an area that I needed to read more deeply, then I would pause and read. I trusted that my adviser wouldn’t let me take the exams if it was clear I wasn’t ready. Lo and behold, she gave me the green light immediately, and I saved myself an enormous amount of stress.

Because here’s what I realized: I was always going to be ready, because this is the stuff I’m living and breathing. I’m not only thinking about social justice philanthropy in the context of school, I’m thinking about it as an activist, as a long-term project, as a writer, as a nonprofit manager, and as a participant. I am not only thinking about poverty politics through academic papers, but through my own discourses, through twitter feeds, through public policy, through the ways my entrepreneurial peers approach social inequalities. And politics? It is part and parcel of how I see the world, how I think about every day actions and larger strategies. To clarify, I don’t mean electoral or governmental politics. I mean the actions that people take that put them in a position to live their values, to stake a claim, to push for change, or to say something challenging. For scholars writing on politics in this way, see Lynn Staeheli, Stuart Hall, Tracy Skelton, Gill Hart, Vicky Lawson, and J.K. GIbson-Graham. 

So I turned in my exams and sent them off in a 36 page PDF. I then proceeded to have a dance party to some very loud pop music in the lobby of WeWork, to eat an enormous bowl of celebratory pho, and then go home and make myself a strong hot toddy. And then sleep for days (kind of).

This was not a process I would elect to undertake again, but it was incredibly positive, productive, and not-that-painful. I look forward to hearing from my committee during the oral defense. And I am so pleased to have had the chance to think deeply about my research, to write it out, and to remind myself that I am ready and I will continue to be ready. Bring it on, dissertation! You’re next.

Mini-Blog Series: Synergies and Satisfaction

February. What a whirlwind.

After my fair city of Seattle dominated the Grammys and the Superbowl, I began a week-long birthday celebration with friends throughout the city.

The following week, I wrote my qualifying exams. And then tried to recover.

I then quickly prepared a talk and hopped on a plane to the Critical Geography Conference at CU-Boulder.

The afternoon of my return from Boulder, I was back in my relational poverty seminar. And I just applied for the Numad program at Office Nomads.

At some point in the last three weeks, I noticed that it all just kind of came together. A great synergy. All of the tendrils I’ve been testing and floating out there came zipping back in and went shooooomp!

This coalesced during my exploratory talk at Boulder, which discussed how I was going to engage critical feminist theory in my dissertation research on social justice philanthropy.

I am one who processes through writing. So, I’m designing a short blog series on this synergy and finding satisfaction with my professional energies. I will post a few short reflections in the coming days that help articulate and capture the energy, intentionality, questions and ideas that have been generated in the last month. I continue to develop my identity in the world of creative philanthropy: as a scholar, a writer, by planning events, through speaking events and as a community connector. I believe this is going to be the basis of my life’s work for the next little while. Hang in there with me while I start to put all the pieces together.

I’ve always been a juggler.

Interesting that on the heels of my last two posts, which praised the pursuit of projects, I drastically reoriented my own standing in relation to my multiple projects.

Without going into much personal detail, suffice it to say I recently found myself smack dab in the middle of a big internal reorientation. A few things had changed in my life over the summer, and in the months that followed, I’ve needed to take time to reorient the internal structuring of my identity, habits, assumptions and priorities. This process has been exhausting, it has been scary, and it has required me to drastically reconfigure my daily activities. There has been very little progress on school work. I’ve stayed committed to my teaching, but my own progress has been sluggish. Viscous, even.

Let me pause and say: everything is ok. I am doing great. In fact, I feel more centered and at peace than I have in… years. The energy I have is not from the adrenaline of being busy every second of every day, but from knowing that I have the capacity, skills and knowledge to figure out how I want to (re)build and (re)establish the infrastructure and architecture of my life. Where low-levels of anxiety used to be the norm, now they are a warning beacon. They are letting me know that I’m clinging to old habits, trying to fit too many things into a life that has asked me for simplicity. These stress beacons make me conscious of when I am trying to make plans and find conclusive answers to things down the road, of which I have little control and are often distractions for what I’m feeling right now.

That is the thing about being a project person. It’s really easy not to look inward. I was always scheduling the next meeting, brainstorming the next conference, scheming for my next trip, calculating a budget; I was always planning my days to be the most efficient possible, so I could fit in yet another thing. My colleagues were baffled by me: how do you get so much done? Literally, how do you do it?! My advisers praised me: you have what it takes to be an academic! you’re so good at time management, you’ll be a wonderful professor! My family and friends were always supportive, but had also come to expect that they would rarely see me, for I was so busy and had so many people to see and projects to tend to.

And one day, about a month ago, I realized: I didn’t feel good about being this person anymore. I was tired of juggling. But, but…

I am really good at juggling. I can keep multiple balls in the air, think logistically, plan efficiently. I can have a day in which I teach, grade papers, write a blog post, exercise, cook a delicious meal, go to a meeting, respond to emails, call a friend on the phone, read food blogs, catch up on twitter, and read academic articles. And I can go to bed exhausted, my body tense and my mind in a whir. I am really good at to-do lists.

Just because I can juggle, doesn’t mean I have to juggle. I find I am wanting simplicity,  and that I am not as satisfied by being as busy. I long for deeper connection with the people in my life, and want to nurture my capacity to look inward and explore who it is I want to be, how I want to relate to myself and others, and what types of projects I actually want to be involved in.

Just because I’m not juggling right now, doesn’t mean I’m not still a juggler. I have a lot of fear in letting go of this hyper-busy-version of myself. Can I be successful as a graduate student if I’m not cramming 15 things into a day? What if I only do four? Can I still get published? Develop my own course syllabus? Apply for grants? Teach? Be a mentor and receive mentorship? Perform department service? Continue to build relationships with community partners? Complete my exams? Develop my Public Scholarship Certificate? Go to conferences? Is it even possible? In these moments of extreme doubt (and, to be honest, wrinkled brow confusion at the vast number of *things* we’re supposed to balance as under-paid graduate students), I remember that just because I’m choosing not to tackle *all* of those things in one day, doesn’t mean I don’t have the capacity to. I am choosing to focus my energy and be intentional in my activities, rather than prioritizing efficiency and speed. If at some point I want to get the juggling pins out again, I can. They’ll just be in my closet, along with multi-colored juggling balls, circus knives and flame throwers.

Even though I’m really good at juggling, I can do other things, too. I am building out my repertoire of ways-of-being. In response to the litany of “Can I still…” questions above, the answer is, of course, “yes”. It might take more time, and it will be guaranteed to look different. But it is possible, because while I am a juggler, I am not only a juggler. Right now I’m feeling more like a tightrope walker: focusing, moving slowly, striving for balance, and trusting that there’s a big ole’ net to catch me when I inevitably trip, stumble and make mistakes. Maybe later I will be a clown. Perhaps someday I’ll tame lions.

Learning to understand this transition has been difficult. There were days early on when I was still going through the motions of doing-everything-all-the-time, and I felt like a ghost floating through someone else’s life. One day, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. I had no appetite. At one point, a colleague said, “you look… muted.” Hm. Concerning. Time to reevaluate.

Where once I proselytized juggling as many projects as possible (to nurture your whole self! to not limit yourself to just academia! to keep your passions and energy fresh! to collaborate and work with others!), I am now a disciple of simplicity. Making that transition within an academic department in which I could have carried around a coffee mug that said, “World’s Best Juggler!”, it is a great vulnerability to share that I am no longer performing that show. And, of course, I am not yet “good” at simplicity. I don’t know how to get an “A+” in simplicity. I do know how to get an A+ in juggling, and so I see myself slipping back into those habits, those grooves, with distressing ease. But that is when the stress signals chime in and say, “Take a step back, Elyse. Pause. Simplify. We know it’s hard. You’re not going to get an “A”. You’ll probably get a “C” at best… but at least you’re trying.”

And try I will. Because we’re all just doing the best we can, just trying to get our needs met. I am doing the best I can, and trying to get my needs met. Right now, I have a deep need for intentionality, focus, and connection. Does this mean I’m scrapping all of my projects? Not at all. But I am holding myself in a new relationship to my projects. I’m practicing saying ‘no’ before I say ‘yes’. I’m learning to do those things that feel like a gift to me, rather than doing things out of a feeling of obligation. And I am pursuing projects in which I feel like I can be my honest and whole self, whether that is a frazzled juggler, an off-balance tightrope walker, or a sad clown.

We are project people.

We are project people. To the refrain, “How do you do it all?” We respond, “How could we not?”

We are PAGE fellows. We are graduate students who pursue community engagement. We define community broadly. We study humanities, arts, social science. We are driven by humanistic inquiry. We are activists, scholars, organizers, artists. We are makers. We are parents, lovers, siblings, friends, allies, partners.

We want to make higher ed more equitable for all; we want to take what we can from a system we see is not working, and go on to other institutions; we want to incorporate care into our teaching and activism; we seek to explore activism through the arts; we want to organize and advance more democratic engagement with the arts and humanities; we believe in the joys of learning; we believe that knowledge comes in many forms; we are not convinced the academy is for us; we are sure that we want to teach.

We are project people. We know that there’s not one path to academic success. We know that we nourish our selves through multiple engagements. We wear many hats. We do a little of this and a little of that. We piece things together.

Maybe we will only be ‘ok’ academics. Maybe we won’t go on to even be academics. Maybe we give too much of ourselves to our communities and causes, feeling depleted in our own bodies and minds. Maybe we don’t have sufficient mentors on our campuses. Maybe we are reinventing the wheel. Maybe we feel lost. Maybe we feel tokenized on our campuses. Maybe we feel alone on our campuses. Maybe our departments have been gutted. Maybe our departments don’t support our work. Maybe we spend most of our time at other institutions. Maybe we aren’t sure what our next project will be. But we know that there will be a next project.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

I have returned from this year’s Imagining America conference, an annual convening that brings together artists and scholars in public life. Unlike any other academic conference I’ve ever been to, IA is about as non-hierarchical as a conference can get. There are site visits, performances, workshops, seminars, roundtables. The only time someone gets up in front of the room to “present” is one of the few keynotes of plenary talks. People are identified by their institutional affiliation, not by rank. Community organizers and leaders run sessions alongside academics and graduate students. Across the board, we are united in our belief that higher education can work more democratically. We can do this work better. Whether that is through more thoughtful and equitable community partnership, through interrogating our own practices, through trying to opening the doors to our institutions, to thinking through our pedagogical commitments… we believe that there is little space for us in higher ed and our current cultural institutions to do the work we believe in. And so we come together to find strength, share ideas, recognize we are not alone, and to organize. This year, we came together for a Call to Action, to share commitments and leave the conference with actionable items to put into place at our home institutions and communities.

Within IA, there is a group of graduate students fellows each year that contribute to the IA blog, lead sessions, and are seen as the folks who will carry these values and commitments forward as we navigate in/through/outside of the academy. I am incredibly honored to be one of the PAGE fellows for 2013-14. 15 of us arrived in Syracuse, New York to meet the board of directors of IA, meet our co-directors (9 incredible past PAGE fellows), and get to know one another.

In four short days, I feel I have gained a new family. I spoke more openly with some of the PAGE fellows and co-directors than I have with folks in Seattle I’ve known for years. I felt at home with these folks in a way that I often don’t in my home institution. Rather than being looked at like an alien when I discuss my multiple projects and commitments, people responded, “oh, cool! I do something like that, too!” Or, “I know exactly what you mean!” or, “wow, I can’t wait to share and learn with one another!” Or, “Huh. Have you thought about x, y and z?”

We dined together, we drank together, we cuddled together, we laughed together. We walked the streets of Syracuse, reflecting on our conversations throughout the day. We discussed race and gender politics in our lives and in our home institutions. We shared our multiple projects: from making sustainable vests to running our own nonprofits, from teaching arts to organizing labor movements, from editing journals to facilitating challenging conversations on our campuses, from parenting to community building, from making art to conserving art.

Soon, I will reflect with some more concise points about some of the lingering questions and takeaways from the conference. For now, I am so comforted and reassured in knowing that I have found kindred spirits who appreciate a back scratch and understand that “how are you doing?” doesn’t warrant a quick response of “fine” – it means we generally care and are curious about well being. That these are folks that have more than work-partner-eat-sleep, but who value whole self wellness and that part of that wellness is pursuing different projects and keeping our passions fresh. We want to make an impact and put our energy into things we care about NOW, and that through our organizing and community building, that energy will spread. It is contagious.

We are project people – how could we not?

One month in.

It has been one month of summer ‘vacation’ – one week of full-on, no-work, sleep-til-10 vacation, and three weeks of summer – sleep-til-8, have slow, luxurious mornings, attempt some school work for a few hours (or not), do one or more of the following activities the rest of the day: garden, run, see friends, cook, clean my house, yoga, see a movie, volunteer, plan eat for equity, go on walks, read a book, nap, swim. Not bad.

I am at the point of this genealogy project where I think it is necessary to check in and reflect on where I am at, what I have learned, what new questions have been raised.

There are a few core themes or findings so far that I think will guide the questions I bring to the rest of the project:
— the way we think about empowerment is based on how we think about power —
— empowerment, broadly speaking, is either seen as something ‘given to’ or something ‘taken’. this difference will impact where the responsibility for empowerment lies —
— management and organizational communication studies go ga-ga over empowerment, and while their conceptualizations are about productivity, efficiency, and worker satisfaction, much of the language appears in the nonprofit world —

I am balancing the multiple meanings that appear in different genres and disciplines, practicing ‘recitation’ (Hemmings, 2012) to put multiple scholars in conversation with one another. The findings in management and business studies, for instance, see empowerment as a process begun by an employer. It is the responsibility of those with power (primarily supervisors) to make sure that power is made available to their subordinates (primarily, employees). They must create conditions that foster non-hierarchical relations of power, and that allow all employees to feel they have input on decision making processes (interesting side note, as I indicated in an earlier post, this is often called self-efficacy. less about your actual ability to make change, but your perceived ability to change your circumstances).

On the other side of things, women’s empowerment movements, often traced to gender and development (GAD) movements, sought to improve the experiences of women in the global South who experienced increased marginalization at multiple scale of the family, village, city, state or nation. Much of the early women’s empowerment work (Dingo, 2012) recognized that women’s marginalization was not limited to economic terms, or singular indicators of poverty. Instead, there were broader social, cultural, political and economic constructs that yielded women as more marginal to their male counterparts. And, of course, women’s experiences were exacerbated through other factors such as religion, class, caste, physical ability, age, literacy, and health. In this lineage of empowerment, power is to be taken by more marginalized groups, through consciousness-raising, social movements, and larger efforts for transformative justice that do not stop with individual women, but work to make more just social and political contexts.

These two uses and conceptualizations of ’empowerment’ seem disparate at first. In fact, as I indicated above, they are almost incommensurable, due to their different understandings of power and where power originates. But, in some ways, I am beginning to see how the nonprofit sector is an area where these two conflicting understandings of empowerment come together. In fact, I wonder if  nonprofits can be seen as spaces of transmission where empowerment is enacted, understood, performed, practiced, translated, learned, passed down, codified, internalized, projected, critiqued… the actions are quite endless, really. Much of my understanding of this concept is informed by Policy Mobilities (McCann and Ward 2012, Temenos and McCann 2012) and feminist transnational rhetoric studies (Dingo, 2012). Different parties bring their own understandings of rhetoric, discourse, language to the organizations in which they participate. The way these get inscribed into practices is so interesting to me, and could be a way that more supervisor/subordinate understandings of empowerment find translation alongside more social movement / pedagogy of the oppressed practices. Finally, I am interested in putting these two parallel fields into conversation (or re-citing them) with relational poverty studies, social movement theory, and feminist scholar activism.

My most recent beacon of hope in this whole project comes from the insights of relational poverty studies and feminist social theory.  I often can see the cynical ways that donors transmit hegemonic neoliberal notions of successful, responsible citizen-subject-hood to youth participants. What if, rather than propagate status quo subjectivities, donors, volunteers, staff and participants come together to work towards understanding oppression, privilege, systemic issues of justice, in order to better see how they all  can be / are working towards systemic change. This is lofty, yes. But. It is a way that donors, (or those with more power, in a conventional sense) are actually empowered to see their ability to change the system we live in. This is the work that Resource Generation and Social Justice Fund Northwest undertake.

So, some thoughts for now. I am going to continue reading some of the early writings on empowerment from each of these fields to really get into its lineages. See what I can tease apart. How I might be able to find new combinations, recitations and conceptualizations that map onto nonprofit work in (new) ways.

Another month, here we go!

A Good Reminder

Today was one of those days that cements in my mind, at least temporarily, why I am lucky to be in graduate school.

It began like any other day in Seattle: woke up to a grey sky, I gave myself extra time in the morning to do the crossword puzzle, because, after all, it is Tuesday, so I had a fighting chance. I made myself breakfast and enjoyed a cup of tea. I contemplated biking or taking the bus, and given the doom and gloom forecast for 8-10 inches of snow, I took the bus. (As an aside, there has been no snow accumulation today, at this point. What a crock). I got to school, had a somewhat frenetic teaching session, and then settled into a routine of meetings, chatting, and dilly-dallying.

And then I met with my adviser about my thesis for the first time in about 2 months, and everything magically got great.

I had feared that this meeting would go poorly. I had rather quickly put together an outline of my thesis, with some of my main literatures and key points. I felt tepid about it, prepared for the worst. I expected a meeting of deep questions, “why this, here?”, “what do you mean by ‘deserving youth’?”, “are you sure you’re citing the right people when you discuss neoliberalization?” But all of this was for naught. We had an incredibly productive and validating meeting. My adviser was (to me, at least) shockingly supportive of the direction I was heading, and impressed by how ‘together’ my thoughts have already become.

So we chatted about deadlines and timelines and goals, and moved onto my upcoming AAG presentation, pausing briefly to discuss funding woes and grant cycles, etc, etc.  Of course there was the requisite talk of cats, cycling and teaching. Always a good break. And then some surprising, though unofficial, good news, to which I will write more freely once it is ‘official’.

All of this is to say that I left my meeting reminded of why I am in graduate school, and why I love being a scholar. All of the doubt and fear I had that I was missing the mark, overlooking some enormous gap, or just plain ‘wrong’, not only evaporated, but was dislodged so entirely that I feel I might go *gasp* a whole week (!) without those thoughts again.

For, not only am I just ‘on the right track’, but apparently the natural steps that I laid out for myself, my natural work cycle and thought progression, my inclination towards scholarship and goal setting and time management and organization… it is all working.

Let me pause for a second, lest it seem I am merely tooting my own horn. That is not what I am writing about. Rather, I need to record the sense of confidence and sincere lack of doubt I have at this moment. These moments are so, so, so very rare in graduate school that I need to have this feeling in writing, so that I can come back to this on the other 360 days when things are just crap; when there is no validation; when I am filled with doubt; when I wonder why I forsook my friends and family across the country to move to grey and expensive Seattle; when finding a healthy balance between work and life is exhausting at best, and impossible at worst; when the graduate student life is demanding without appropriate compensation; when I feel completely isolated from the amazing intellectualism of many of my peers; when I’m not connecting with my students; when I look at my savings account and ::sigh::.

That is to say: this life, while it has its moments, is a difficult one. But I am getting paid (though that is a sore subject in and of itself), I get to teach, I get to meet with two of the most incredible women faculty that I’ve ever met, I get to meet amazing colleagues and friends, I get to present my work at conferences, I get to read all day if I want to, I get to have a perfectly reasonable excuse to go home on a Friday night after happy hour and just knit! So, for those times when all of that good is eclipsed by all of the other tough, crunchy, gritty and anxiety producing ‘stuff’, I hope I can come back to this moment, when I felt so completely sure of myself, and, truly, on top of the world.