Living the fable
It’s been awhile since I’ve written anything longer than a few notes (which inevitably end up at the bottom of a massive stack of papers on my desk). I mean, parenting a 2-year-old is hard work, man! You don’t get much time for introspection.
Since the, like, year and a half since I posted anything I’ve gotten the post-natal depression under control, gone back to a plethora of jobs and social media, and (this is the important one), kicked off the process of applying for PhDs. I am super, super excited about doing a PhD. It’s always seemed like a pipe dream. But, post-baby-popping, I sort of came to the conclusion that I can (and maybe should) do any damn thing. Plus there’s this nugget of wisdom from my cousin:
You’re going to spend your time doing something, so why not do something you’re really keen on?
I found support for making an application and writing up the proposal easy to come by, and a supervisor who was willing to, well, supervise. I wrote, I dunno, a million iterations of my proposal (which is absolutely genius, btw). Applications went in on time, because I’m that kind of good with deadlines. And in the past few weeks, the rejections have started to roll in.
Fables
You’d think, as an adult with a many and varied work history, I’d be used to rejections. But they always sting, don’t they? Like pulling off a plaster. You know it’s coming, but still, ouch!
Little E’s current favourite bedtime book is Aesop’s Fables. You know, the one with the tortoise and the hare? She likes it because it has animals. I like it because the messages are really powerful. And also because they’re jarring in their discordancy. I mean, the tortoise and the hare moral is:
Speed isn’t everything. There are other ways of winning.
I read that and I’m all like, yeah baby! I can do my PhD whenever I want, I’ll get there in the end. And then I get a rejection letter. I instantly start to backtrack, and wonder if I really should be telling my kid these stories. It’s nice to think that hard work will get you there, and that your brain is worth really using, and that you should be brave. Will it? Is it? Should you?
Agency
Don’t panic, the PhD mission is still ongoing, with some applications still outstanding, and some difficult decisions still to be made (financial, temporal, territorial). Of course, some degree of misfortune is unsurprising — I absolutely should not expect to get into every PhD programme ever. But sometimes unfairness can be startling, like when I’m told I didn’t get onto a programme because I don’t have the right pedigree. I mean, ouchies, right?
I’m struggling with a contradiction between the American Dream and British prudence. I believe, really, deeply believe that hard work leads to success. But I also know, rationally, that that isn’t always true. Right now I’m caught between the fact that putting in applications is within my power, but being accepted is not. Not applying would be my fault, the fact that there isn’t enough funding for all the people who want to do research is not. But some days, it does feel like the system is stacked against me, and I’m dropping fabled stones into a jug to get to the water.
I don’t want failure to be my fault. No one ever does. I’m putting myself out there, sacrificing a lot, so I can do something I really want to do. I’m not convinced I’m doing the right thing, but, you know, I’d like my life moral to be:
Find worthwhile stuff you like to do, and go hell for leather.
