More sobblogging
I found out that two people from my undergraduate program are heading towards PhDs in linguistics next year — one graduated this year, one last year. It’s hard to hear; I feel somewhat stupid, or — no, stupid works here. As does failure, or worthless, or any of the worse terms I use against myself, on bad days.
Yes, sure, it was the right decision for me. But part of me whispers that I did it because I was scared of failing because I’m just no good. Failing because you quit is different, after all. Part of me says that.
Part of me goes on to say that after all the admissions department made a big-ass mistake, that I was never any good at this, that I’m not good at anything.
In a brief conversation with a friend, we were discussing grad school as a general thing, mostly her telling me about what professors have suggested to her. I’ll be complaining to her at length (I claim it’s “warning” her), later.
Grad school yay! Academia yay! Of course you expect to hear that from tenured professors who like their jobs. I recall that one prof, who was supportive of my leaving, also kept it as sort of a given that I could — and in a few years would — go back, elsewhere. (I admit that sometimes I think I should, or go and do some stuff in computer science, or . . . but this is just my inferiority complex, I think. Hope. Something.)
But it was the same as people complain about at length here. You can teach there. You can get intellectual stimulation there. And, well, yes, you can, and I can’t get so much of discussion of linguistics from my friends or family — but I have better political discussions with my family, and sociocultural and religious ones with them, too. I care about those things, too.
I wish I could see ahead the next little while and see that it all works out. That I find something I love doing (most of the time, anyhow) in a place I love living. That I can buy a place to live in. That I can find someone to share my life with. That I’m happy and feel I made the right choice, think “oh had I stayed there I wouldn’t've . . . ” but then there’s always the good things that would have happened had I stayed. Time has helped with worse than this, and it will help with this — but this was all my choices which seemed so reasonable and well-thought at the time.
Regret.
It’s hard — or maybe just hypocritical — because I know lots of very smart people who did not get PhDs and do not think any less of them. But of me — well. That’s different. So I huddle in a corner of my elbow and think I’m terrible, I’m terrible . . .
May 25th, 2004 at 12:43 pm
Just ’cause it needs saying: You. Are. Not. Terrible.
You are also not a failure, a quitter, Not Up to the Challenge, or any of those other things.
You are a bright, funny person who loves linguistics but has other priorities than those of your former colleagues. You sense that there is a life worth living that is outside academia, a life with family, friends, cats, good conversations, and so on. Your instincts about this are correct. You can trust them.
You know this. I’m just reminding you. :)
(Hang in there. As you yourself noted, you need time. Give yourself it. And sobblog (great word) as much as you need to.)
May 25th, 2004 at 1:23 pm
On failure and its contentments
A slight but important difference between a blog and a memoir is that the blog captures events as they are happening. That’s not to make a value judgment; hindsight and perspective lend value to memoirs. Immediacy, however, is also very valuable. My gr…
May 25th, 2004 at 6:46 pm
Seconding Rana on that.
May 25th, 2004 at 8:51 pm
Thirding Rana on that. Besides, only a great person could coin the world sobblog.
May 25th, 2004 at 11:00 pm
I know I need time. I need time and something else to do. I’m not desperately scrounging for money. I don’t have debts to pay off. I was insanely busy in the time between deciding to leave and leaving. Now I’m not; now I’m taking a deep breath and — well, I think and getting my period. I always get seriously depressed before my period, get worried, and then realise Oh! It’s just PMS. This time it might not be, since I’m not actually wondering about suicide (to all those women who say PMS doesn’t exist: maybe not for *you*).
Once I’ve started up on a real schedule again, and once it’s warmed up, and once I have just a little more time away . . . once, too, I’ve had some good long conversations with friends.
But right now it’s late and my insecurities come to play in the dark.
In response to Dorothea’s post, too: it’s not fear. I have no doubt that in a month or a year this will be a mostly non-issue. I have no doubt that I will survive this just fine (I have survived worse, after all), and that even if my plans don’t work out, I will find something else that will. I will apply for teaching jobs at Cegeps (you just need an MA). I’ll manage.
It’s not about fear, it’s about some self-hatred that I have never been able to eradicate.
May 26th, 2004 at 8:58 am
You’re quite right. It isn’t fear. Read my post again, and note who’s afraid. :)
May 27th, 2004 at 1:19 am
I know that in-between-times angst a bit myself. Not being on a real schedule, and not having the chance to connect with friends, definitely exacerbate it. Don’t beat yourself up for it, or for feeling regret. You’ll get through the present (and the PMS) eventually. And, yes, fourth Rana on that!
June 13th, 2004 at 4:17 am
You think you’re a failure? What about me?
Wolfangel writes “I found out that two people from my undergraduate program are heading towards PhDs in linguistics next year — one graduated this year, one last year. It’s hard to hear; I feel somewhat stupid, or — no, stupid works here. As do…