I've never been one of those people who knew exactly what she wanted to be when she grew up or, even now, to know the precise answer to the question "so what are you going to do with a PhD when you're done?"

No, where some people seem to have a laser sharp, bright beam of light that sees all the way to the end of the path, I walk in more of a fuzzy glow.  I carry a lantern that illuminates just enough ahead for me to know where to place my next step.  It's not that I'm not certain I'm in the right place right now. It's just that I don't necessarily know where those steps might lead.

Because of that, I've always had a soft spot in my heart for this quote:

Don't worry about what you will do next.  If you take one step with all the knowledge you have, there is usually just enough light shining to show you the next step.

(Terry Tempest Williams quoting Mardy Murie in her commencement speech at the University of Utah, May 2003)

I count on this to be true.

Happy New Year!

How to Climb a Mountain

Make no mistake. This will be an exercise in staying vertical. 

Yes, there will be a view, later, a wide swath of open sky,

but in the meantime: tree and stone. If you're lucky, a hawk will

coast overhead, scanning the forest floor. If you're lucky,

a set of wildflowers will keep you cheerful. Mostly, though,

a steady sweat, your heart fluttering indelicately, a solid ache

perforating your calves. This is called work, what you will come to know,

eventually and simply, as movement, as all the evidence you need to make

your way. Forget where you were. That story is no longer true.

Level your gaze to the trail you're on, and even the dark won't stop you.

~Maya Stein

We all sat in a circle, 15 or so doctoral students and our proseminar leader, Professor F.  Proseminar is a cross between group therapy and staff meeting, where we talk about how it's going and receive direction on next steps.

On our minds that day: the balance. How to have a life while you're a grad student.

Two of us are moms--what a lucky thing for both of us to have each other--so the balance between our real life and our student life is a constant topic for us.  But everyone else struggles with this, too.  One woman wants to have children at some point during the program.  Others are dating or engaged.  One or two brave souls have jobs.  As we discussed strategies about how to get it all done and still stay sane, Professor F offered his theory of rotating neglect. "Anytime you're doing anything, you're neglecting something else.  That's life. Get used to it." (He said it more sympathetically that it reads.)

Maybe, I think.  But isn't that looking at the glass half-full? How can that ever feel satisfying--rotating neglect?

I think of life as a student + mom like this:  There's a line of boulders.  Big, heavy monstrous boulders that I have to move from that place right here to over there beyond the horizon.  An impossible job to do in one fell swoop, it requires nudges.

There are several boulders representing parts of my program (coursework, papers, internship, qualifying papers, dissertation).  Of course there are family boulders, household boulders, friend/sister/daughter/service boulders.  Every day I try to nudge a few.  Research articles for a paper (nudge). Make a few phone calls to get needed work done on our plumbing (nudge). Outline a possible QP (nudge). Grade five papers (nudge+). Of course, some boulders really need daily nudging or they slide backwards (family ones, obviously) and I try to spend some good blocks of time with them.  But mostly, if I give a nudge to five boulders I call it good enough and feel (relatively) peaceful.  Tomorrow, more nudges.

It's all about the increments, baby.

I had forgotten I had mentioned my boulder theory until a colleague dropped it into a conversation six months or so later ("I just nudged one of those boulders!"). Since then it's become kind of a code word for some of us. A mantra to talk us off of the ledge of anxiety.

Every once in a while I'll look back and see a sad (yes, neglected) boulder way back there and realize I need to make it a priority for a bit (usually it's the negotiable, non-deadline things like my own research). So I adjust.  In one respect, I'm just nudging boulders inches at a time.  In the big picture, I'm strengthening and moving and getting there, one nudge at a time.