Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters
Whew! It's been a little while!
This semester wiped me out. From start to finish, I have had a to-do list that's taller than I am. Don't get me wrong, that list is still very much alive and well, but it's much, much shorter--thanks to the four papers and a thesis proposal that I completed last week.
If I'm being honest, which is difficult to do when all I want to do is complain about how much work I have to do and pat myself on the back for the work that I have done, most of the work I had to do wasn't for class, but for my proposal. Which means I probably could have avoided the panicking I did over the past month by working more on it earlier in the semester. That being said, I will give myself credit for writing a 6 page long proposal for funding in February, and actually finishing it in time for the due date despite two ER visits and a bunch of doctor's appointments and late work.
But, before the residual stress boils to the surface, I'd like to say something positive. Yes, I've worked a lot this semester. Like, more than I've worked in any semester (or probably even any year) before. And I am so exhausted that once finals are over (or maybe even before), I will be 100% burnt out (though I'll only get a few weeks of being burnt out before I leave to do my research travel, assuming I get the funding). And this is sounding very negative, but I promise there's a point.
In spite of all the work and the very little peaceful sleep/free time, I'm happy. Really, genuinely happy. So whenever I go on and on about how much work my thesis proposal was and how much work I have to do for my actual thesis (which, get used to it, cause I've got grad school once I'm done with this), it shouldn't surprise you that I'll be smiling the entire time, speaking faster and faster as I start fangirling, or that I'll probably end the rant with something along the lines of, "but it's actually really fun." Because it is!
I think this is how I know that I'm on the right path. Before I secured my English pathway, this decision terrified me. It still terrifies me, especially as I look to graduate school. I have to tuck away memories of praise and awards (I just got nominated for a creative writing award here!) to remind myself on rainy days that I am right where I belong. I imagine working on my thesis in any of the other areas that I majored in, and stress bubbles up in my stomach. There isn't excitement. There isn't a desire to work and work and keep working until my brain shuts down.
The fear doesn't go away. I understand that it will always be by my side. But was I not afraid before? Afraid instead that I would be spending my life working on something that I did not, could not, love? Afraid that one day I would look back and wish I had followed my heart, regret that I allowed my life to be dictated by fear? To me, that is a worse fear. That is the kind of fear that paralyzes, and I have never been one to stay still for too long.
The fear that comes with this path is not an easy one to silence, and it is logical. Will I get published? Will I get tenured? Will I perpetuate the starving artist stereotype? Maybe. Maybe. Probably. Is it worth it? That's a question that I don't know if I can answer now, still distant from those problems, still in the blissful bubble of undergraduate studies and scholarships. But I am inclined to say yes. I look at the lives of the writers who came before me, my literary ancestors, and I see hardship, struggle, fear. But, more than this, I see purpose. I see meaning. I see words that move the soul in ways that I could not replicate in a laboratory setting. I see sacrifice for a greater cause, and I feel the call to follow, to lead, to write.
I say all this as a plea, of sorts, to understand, to empathize. I don't presume that these words will ring true for you as clearly as they do for me. I can't bring you feel the way I do. All I ask is for the assumption that I have thought this through, that there are reasons for my choice, that I am intelligent and responsible enough to study the roads set before me and traverse down the one that is for me. I do not ask you to follow me. I know that the path is dark, mysterious, and may lead to places I never expected. But it would be nice to have someone (or multiple someones) to share in this adventure, to hold my hand when it gets dark, to remind me of why I'm here in the first place. I already have a chorus of critics and skeptics in my mind; it is support that I want.
This semester wiped me out. From start to finish, I have had a to-do list that's taller than I am. Don't get me wrong, that list is still very much alive and well, but it's much, much shorter--thanks to the four papers and a thesis proposal that I completed last week.
If I'm being honest, which is difficult to do when all I want to do is complain about how much work I have to do and pat myself on the back for the work that I have done, most of the work I had to do wasn't for class, but for my proposal. Which means I probably could have avoided the panicking I did over the past month by working more on it earlier in the semester. That being said, I will give myself credit for writing a 6 page long proposal for funding in February, and actually finishing it in time for the due date despite two ER visits and a bunch of doctor's appointments and late work.
But, before the residual stress boils to the surface, I'd like to say something positive. Yes, I've worked a lot this semester. Like, more than I've worked in any semester (or probably even any year) before. And I am so exhausted that once finals are over (or maybe even before), I will be 100% burnt out (though I'll only get a few weeks of being burnt out before I leave to do my research travel, assuming I get the funding). And this is sounding very negative, but I promise there's a point.
In spite of all the work and the very little peaceful sleep/free time, I'm happy. Really, genuinely happy. So whenever I go on and on about how much work my thesis proposal was and how much work I have to do for my actual thesis (which, get used to it, cause I've got grad school once I'm done with this), it shouldn't surprise you that I'll be smiling the entire time, speaking faster and faster as I start fangirling, or that I'll probably end the rant with something along the lines of, "but it's actually really fun." Because it is!
I think this is how I know that I'm on the right path. Before I secured my English pathway, this decision terrified me. It still terrifies me, especially as I look to graduate school. I have to tuck away memories of praise and awards (I just got nominated for a creative writing award here!) to remind myself on rainy days that I am right where I belong. I imagine working on my thesis in any of the other areas that I majored in, and stress bubbles up in my stomach. There isn't excitement. There isn't a desire to work and work and keep working until my brain shuts down.
The fear doesn't go away. I understand that it will always be by my side. But was I not afraid before? Afraid instead that I would be spending my life working on something that I did not, could not, love? Afraid that one day I would look back and wish I had followed my heart, regret that I allowed my life to be dictated by fear? To me, that is a worse fear. That is the kind of fear that paralyzes, and I have never been one to stay still for too long.
The fear that comes with this path is not an easy one to silence, and it is logical. Will I get published? Will I get tenured? Will I perpetuate the starving artist stereotype? Maybe. Maybe. Probably. Is it worth it? That's a question that I don't know if I can answer now, still distant from those problems, still in the blissful bubble of undergraduate studies and scholarships. But I am inclined to say yes. I look at the lives of the writers who came before me, my literary ancestors, and I see hardship, struggle, fear. But, more than this, I see purpose. I see meaning. I see words that move the soul in ways that I could not replicate in a laboratory setting. I see sacrifice for a greater cause, and I feel the call to follow, to lead, to write.
I say all this as a plea, of sorts, to understand, to empathize. I don't presume that these words will ring true for you as clearly as they do for me. I can't bring you feel the way I do. All I ask is for the assumption that I have thought this through, that there are reasons for my choice, that I am intelligent and responsible enough to study the roads set before me and traverse down the one that is for me. I do not ask you to follow me. I know that the path is dark, mysterious, and may lead to places I never expected. But it would be nice to have someone (or multiple someones) to share in this adventure, to hold my hand when it gets dark, to remind me of why I'm here in the first place. I already have a chorus of critics and skeptics in my mind; it is support that I want.
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