What comes next?

So, Princeton has a really, really weird fall semester schedule. As in, our papers are due and exams are scheduled after Christmas break. It's kind of the worst. They are changing this schedule sometime soon(ish?), but it's not going to affect me very much because I've now turned in my last papers and am done with coursework (I seriously felt SUCH a burden leave my shoulders when I turned in those papers. SUCH A RELIEF).

[How I treated myself: blue hydrangeas and chocolate cake.]

So, what does that mean now, you ask? (Since I know you're asking.) Well, for me, it means that this semester I study for my general exams and take those exams in May. The words "general exams" would have meant pretty much nothing to me three years ago. 

I am convinced more and more of the fact that no one really knows what it means to get a PhD unless you've gotten one yourself. That's not an indictment, that's just an observation. I certainly didn't know what I was getting myself into until I was in the thick of it all (and, even then, I might still not 100% know what I've gotten myself into). 

BUT, if I talk to you in the upcoming months and you ask me, "What's up? Are you still doing coursework? Working on your dissertation?" just know that I'll reply, "I'm studying for generals." 

Most people I know (and love) have given me a blank stare when I tell them that. Again, I don't blame them or you. PhD-speak is terribly opaque and every PhD program has their own meanings for the same term. 

So, what "studying for generals" means for me is this: I have 3 different fields that I will be tested on in the middle of May. The 3 fields are fields of history, and I need to master the literature of these different fields. That means reading about 300 books and articles total. For example, my major field is the Long 19th Century U.S., with readings from the 1790s through World War I, with themes such as labor, antislavery and slavery, modernism, economic, and gender. I'll discuss the books I'm reading with the professors who have agreed to work with me on these fields. And then, in May, I'll have written exams and oral exams on each of the 3 fields. After the oral exams, my generals committee (the professors who have been working with me), will decide if I pass or fail.

[Most of my books.]

[And the rest.]

In other words, it's a big deal.

Of course, that's what "studying for generals" means on paper. What "studying for generals" means in reality is that there will probably be lots of tears. They haven't happened yet, but believe me, they'll come at some point.

It also means figuring out a schedule so I
1) read everything that I need to,
2) synthesize the information in some coherent way, and
3) make a schedule which includes things like, oh, I don't know, making sure I actually eat, and that I don't hibernate in the library, and that I spend time outside, or spend time writing blog posts, or jogging while listening to a Harry Potter podcast (which is the most white-girl-millennial thing in the world to do--but have I done it? Oh, certainly.). Because I refuse to let the pile of books swallow me whole. A girl needs to breathe. And listen to Harry Potter podcasts once in awhile.

Tl;dr--If you see me in the next few months and I looked harried, stressed, or catatonic, just give me a hug. I'll also take baked goods.

A normal, brave thing

Yesterday, I turned in three term papers and officially ended my first semester as a PhD student at Princeton University.

[Princeton, the day after Dean's Date and after my soul felt so much lighter to get rid of those papers.]

I can hear you all cheering. Thank you, thank you.

But before you cheer too much, can I get real for a second? This semester was one of the hardest semesters of my academic career. (It's up there with the first half of second grade, which, yes, totally counts as part of my academic career, and which, as my mother will attest, was incredibly hard.)

Hard doesn't mean awful. (Though, to be honest, there have been some pretty awful things this semester--like getting double pneumonia halfway through the semester. That was the definition of pretty awful.) But it does mean hard. Moving across the country is hard. Reading 1500-2000 pages a week is hard. Making new friends is hard. Dealing with imposter syndrome is hard. Figuring out a new schedule is hard. Wondering if you've made the right decision is hard.

I'm not chronicling these as a tale of woe. Nor was this semester only full of hard things. Because making new friends is also exciting. Exploring a new place is thrilling. Challenging classes are also intellect-stretching. And there were (and are) moments when I stand in the courtyard between the Firestone Library, the Princeton University Chapel, and Chancellor Green and think, "Wow. I'm actually here."

But I mention what is hard because I hope that for someone, it is helpful to hear and realize that they're not alone. 

Because I know how scary it can be to admit that things are hard. It is especially scary when it seems like everyone else knows exactly what they're doing.

But most of us are just barely hanging in there, too. This is at least what I've gathered from friends I've talked with (inside and outside of Princeton). We're all just making it through and figuring this out as we go--all of us are scared and no one knows exactly what they're doing. And there is power in that solidarity. (Even if it is shared suffering, there is power in that.) And supporting each other in the unknown, uncertain, and unfair is a brave thing to do.

There's a picture I discovered recently by the artist Caitlin Connolly. I really, really love her work for a variety of reasons. But one reason I like her artwork is because of its unique simplicity. This one is a sketch called, "I'm Doing a Normal Brave Thing."

/via/

I'm doing a normal brave thing. 

I like the tension in this sketch--her head points one way while her feet walk in the other direction. Sometimes, our head desperately wants to go back to the way it ways, but our feet carry us forward. Also, sometimes things that appear normal to us appear brave to others. Sometimes things that appear brave to us seem normal to others.

I also like the quiet repose on her face. This is just life. This is normal. The tension is normal. The uncertainty is normal. But so is the peace which comes from quiet bravery--by choosing to live with those tensions and ambiguities.

I've thought about that phrase in the past few months, and how it applies to so many stages of life: I'm doing a normal brave thing. I'm going to school. I'm learning how to drive. I'm experiencing heartbreak. I'm learning to love again. I'm traveling somewhere across the globe to visit a friend. I'm driving across the neighborhood to help a stranger. I'm listening. I'm forgiving. I'm living.

The tension is real. The uncertainty is real. The desire to turn back is real. But so is the desire for change, mobility, possibility, and success.

Living life--and choosing to live life deliberately--is a normal brave thing.

And so, for me, pursuing and confronting and learning to embrace this PhD program is doing a normal, brave thing. For some people, getting a PhD at Princeton is the farthest thing from normal. To others, going into academia is hardly brave--it's running away into an ivory tower.

But for me, it's both normal and brave. Normal, in that so many people have done this and so many will do it in the future. I'm part of a continuous line of students that have done hard things--and harder things. I'm a normal part of this circle of PhD life.

But it's brave in that I'm the first woman in my line of women--from mothers, grandmothers, great-grandmothers, etc.--to pursue a PhD. It's brave in the way every story is unique and every challenge is new, since I have not done it before. It's brave in that it takes resilience and hope to keep moving forward.

Coming back onto campus after Christmas Break, I did feel hopeful. As I walked past Dickinson Hall, I felt a sense of, Yes, this is where I need to be and it is right. It's a feeling that gives me courage.

I'm sure that this coming semester will be hard, too. It will be easier in some ways and harder in different ways than my first semester. But I believe I can do it. And I believe that all of us--no matter our challenges this year--can face the new year with bravery.