The View From Kalamazoo

Ph.D. Attrition: Chronicle article Doctor Dropout by Scott Smallwood is all over the blogs I read – I got a xerox in my box earlier this week, as our Dean had emailed it to all Chairs and Directors (and PESz is a man of much information disemination, a nice thing.) I’ve read and re-read it a few times. It’s nothing I can say I was surprised to see discussed so clearly and openly, although I admit it’s just another Great Fear in my collection of Great Fears as I sit and wait (and wait) for my mailbox to provide provide an answer to the question “Where do I see myself in 6 months?” Let’s be frank – I’m a woman, a mother of two small children, and not a fresh-faced and optimistic sweet young thing right out of undergrad. Even coming with an M.A. I’m a potential statistic – and, knowing that, even though I’m employed with insurance, am still willing to shell out a ridiculous sum of money and risk receiving “You suck!” letters from 7 schools for the chance to re-visit my admittedly rusty Latin and give it an all-or-nothing go. It’s no small risk for anyone, but I’m keenly aware of the greater risk in doing all of this with a family depending on me to not bankrupt us, not (possibly) move us for no good reason to a horrible place (or spend the next several years away from my children, visiting twice a month if I’m able, which is the direction The Man who likes his job is leaning), not go nuts, and not fail utterly and bring misery on us all. Interesting stuff at Critical Mass (among other sites) on this.

(of course, if I do manage to avoid the attrition pitfalls AND manage to find a needle tenure-track position in The Great Haystack a rather depressing job market I have a lot of ass-kissing and Survivor-esque manipulating and scheming to look forward to, according from this bit from the Chronicle. At this point it’s clear I’m certifiable and the nice young men in their clean white coats will be coming to take me away (ha ha) any day now.)

Am I’m Googled? Invisible Adjunct commented on the practice – and I’m left wondering if those search committees will be unhappy with my lack of dedication to my gym and dieting responsibilities, or impressed that I get off My Fat Ass and go to the gym at all. I don’t know that there’s anything of interest here for good or ill (“nothing to see here, nothing to see…move along, folks”) that will make me or break me (unless they’re mortally offended by my series of breastfeeding jokes this summer!) since I’m neither particularly to the left or right politically, I post neither personal poetry or porn (and for that we are all eternally grateful!) and try to not allow this space to devolve into endless gushing about my little destruction-adept, juice-stained prodigies. Let’s face it – I’m just not interesting enough to be worried about being Googled.

Ph.d. panic from Salon.com: The last bit is best, but it’s rather where I am right now.

“…Welcome to the world of us, the ones full of fear and trembling. Come on in and tremble with us.

And yet, look at yourself in the mirror as you tremble: Are you not still whole? You have not come apart like a shattered glass statue. You’re still able to put your fingers in the corners of your mouth and make a face at yourself in the mirror. You’re still able to stick your tongue out at yourself, or at your eminent professors, or your not-so-eminent professors.

Everything is just the way it was before you applied. Except you’re trembling.

I hope you get in. And I hope you remember what the process was like. Maybe it’s like getting born.”

I’ve given birth. I’ve given birth (twice!) without an epidural (and at least in grad school you’re allowed anesthetic – a black and tan sounds lovely at the moment.)

I can do this (getting born thing, not born-again), right? Right?