On why graduate school is currently so pointless to me.

I graduated from Johnson C Smith University in 2009, firmly believing that I had the world in the palm of my hand. I didn’t have all the answers, but up until that point I’d asked all the right questions, and followed the itemized list that littered my path to success. I knew that whatever I wanted to do, I could do. I’d grown up surrounded by a loving and encouraging family, immediate and otherwise. I’d always been told of how proud I made them, how happy they were that I was graduating first high school, then college. My mother and father had instilled in me a deep sense of self-worth and made sure that I knew that I was capable of greatness.

When I arrived at JCSU in 2005 I was surrounded by young men and women from increasingly different backgrounds, that were my age, that had some of the same dreams – but that were so completely different from me it was astounding. I thought I would be around young people that would openly discuss the problems of the world, the state of Black America, the sort of people that would let go of petty high school tendencies and seek to better themselves. I hoped to better myself, and I like to believe that I did – but there are days that I am not so sure.

When I arrived at Purdue in 2010, I thought I would be surrounded by young men and women from increasingly different backgrounds, that were my age, that had some of the same dreams – and who would give me the sort of environment I believed I missed out on in college. I found myself quickly disenchanted with my life as a graduate student with respect to both social and educational aspects. Who was I helping? How was I helping them? Were my services at a lab bench, trapped in a dungeon-like lab for 8 hours a day (when I was only being paid for 4) really doing anything for anyone? I tried to tell myself that it was. I tried to tell myself that getting a PhD would allow me to be a better professor (as I wanted, and still would like, to teach at the college level). I had a plan – get a PhD, endure a post-doc, return to my alma mater, liberate the department chair position from the clutches of whichever professor currently held it, and create the department that I should have had when I was there.

But, I’ve grown to realize that I am meant to do so much more. I see the increasing need for mentors in the Black community. I see the need for constant encouragement of our young people – a funny thing for me to say since I am only currently 23. As I move further along in my education, I see less of me: outspoken Black men and women who envision a future for the world that is better than that which they found. Is it because I didn’t look, or because they simply aren’t there? Either option would result in the same – there should be more.

While a student at JCSU I only did a small part. I mentored for a year – and it was the most fulfilling job that I ever had the pleasure of taking part in. I cried when I couldn’t get a student to see how beautiful she was, when she couldn’t see what I saw. It broke my heart to see her in such pain. I wanted her to eventually get to the point where she could look in the mirror and say “I’m brilliant and I’m capable of anything. That alone makes me beautiful.” Did she ever get there? I don’t know. I failed her. I didn’t take the time to keep in touch. I left JCSU and I left her.

This realization wracks me. It makes me realize that our schools and our communities need a network of mentors and educators that will be willing to be dedicated to a life or lives for the long term. We need a network that will partner with middle and high schools in our community and mentor our growing children. I hear children every day talking about their dreams of being business executives, athletes, doctors and lawyers. JCSU has students that are on that very path. JCSU has graduated people that have embraced these very professions – who live in Charlotte and the surrounding areas. We need to connect the professionals with the students. Give them an opportunity to see a world that exists beyond their front doors. Give them an environment akin to the one in which I was cocooned – a family of people that are constantly saying not only, “you can do this,” but also, “you will do this.” A network of people that is unwilling to see their young people give up. A network that will have a hand in creating a generation that will enter graduate and professional schools, and graduate from them surrounded by people that look like them.

I propose this to you, Dr. Carter, because as a young woman of 23 I am unfulfilled with life. I know there is so much more that I can do for this world than sit at a lab bench all day. I can use the power of my experience and my words to help guide someone through their high school careers and into a college one. I envision a program that will raise money to fund scholarships for children to attend college. A program that will teach them about the different avenues they can pursue in life. One that will have a hand in increasing the literacy rates within the Black community. One that will as a byproduct, see the numbers of young Black men and women graduating from high school and beyond increase. I believe that JCSU and its students can do this. I would like to work with you, our current and past students to make this dream a reality so that we can help our young children live theirs.

We start with one school, with a few children. We ask them, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” We ask them, “How do you think you get there?” And we help them achieve those goals. We help them study for their exams. We use our science majors to help them learn the differences between meiosis and mitosis, or English majors – the differences between adjectives and adverbs. Most importantly, we don’t just work with them for a year. We work with them for as long as we are able and as long as they are willing. I believe in this, I believe it can work because I have seen it work. I know personally what mentorship has the potential to do. I hope that you can see this dream as a reality as well. I hope that we can work together in the very near future to make this happen.

Sincerely,

Kristen Reynolds

FREEDOM...is so freakin' close!

It’s done.

The program has been alerted, my one potential lab has been alerted. I’m sure everyone in my cohort knows at this point, not that their knowing is at all important.

I’m leaving. Moving on. Going home. Blowing der popsicle stand.  And all that anyone can ask me is, “why?" and "what are you going to do?”

Well, for starters, I’m going to reintroduce my pasty white (black) flesh to sunlight through copious usage of shorts, skirts, sleeveless tops and sandals – something that is anathema in any reputable lab – and I only deal with labs of repute my friends. Next, I’m going to lay out by the pool and do and think about nothing. But, most importantly I’m not going to do this.  

I’ve decided to leave. That’s as far as I’ve gotten. It’s not like there’s some random person sitting outside on one of Purdue’s many corners handing out tickets to life. I’ll know what I’m doing when I get there.  The possibilities, much like the inherent stupidity of our government, are endless.

That being said – I feel like I’m 10 again. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Well, when does one officially “grow-up?” Only time will tell.

I could be a pastry chef and open a kick-ass sinfully decadent bakery.

I could go to law school and be a lawyer as sexy as Hank Moody's defense attorney.

I could go back to school and get a degree in English.

Or maybe one in Political Science (shudders – science).

Or maybe I’ll just kick back and relax for a bit, replenish the old pool of self confidence. Rediscover who I am.

This year has stripped me bare. Graduate school has a way of creeping in and eroding the very fiber of your being. It’s a silent killer. Aided only by the astounding ability of civilized people to pounce on their peers at their weakest moments.

I have got a month left here, and I can’t say that I’ll be terribly sorry to see the end of this journey or the end to explaining why I’m leaving. (Because I can. Because I want to. Just, because.)

Though, thanks to my mother and her brilliance, I can now fire back with “why are you staying?” I don’t think anyone has legitimately stopped to ask this question. Or, what’s more, if the answer is even worth it.

You've got problems? I've got solutions.

I feel like every word I type here is under scrutiny. Which is odd, because I only have a few (dare I say loyal?) followers. I hate that the words of one, single, too scared to put a name to the face person make me hesitant to do something that I love – write.

I started this blog because I wanted to share my experiences with future and current graduate students. I found that when I had nothing else to turn to, this became my outlet.

When the stark reality that I was officially in a long distance relationship hit me, I wrote about it. When I realized that the person that’s been by my side for the last 5 years was no longer there – I wrote about it. When I started failing my classes and FUBARing lab – I wrote about it. When I realized that I didn’t quite fit in – I wrote about it. And I put my name and face to everything that I wrote.

I stand by it.

Proudly.

I’m making a very difficult decision in my life. And I’m displaying it for all of the world to witness. I don’t know if that’s ballsy or not – but I do hope that someone out there will benefit from this.  I hope that someone out there will read something that I’ve written on these pages and walk away with the firm resolve to be whoever they were meant to be. Someday, in the potentially very near future, you will be faced with making a life altering decision. And that very same decision will be influenced by the (often unsolicited) opinions of others. And those opinions will make you stop and question everything that you’ve done and said up until that point. Finally, when you think you’ve weighed every option, every pro and con, Some Random (dare I say negative? Unhappy? Eager to spread the misery around?) person will come along and offer their “expert advice,” and you’ll be back to square one.

Don’t let it happen. You are who you are and you have to live with the decisions you make.  Naturally, we seek the counsel of those that are closest to us, but at the end of the day the decision is yours and yours alone. Do you want to wake up 10 years from now and have to say “I did xyz because Some Random told me I should?” That is a recipe for regret.

I came. I saw. I conquered the “what if” beast. When I leave, and trust me I’m counting down the days, I won’t have to ask myself “what if I’d gone to Purdue?” I’ll already know what it was like. I won’t be so busy agonizing over my past, and I’ll be able to focus on the here and now and on the future.

It’s very easy for Randoms to offer their opinions when they aren’t the ones that have to deal with the consequences. It’s very easy for anyone from the outside looking in to say what is or isn’t right or wrong. Whatever happened to live and let live? If you don’t like it, then don’t YOU do it. But don’t begrudge me my right to do so. Don’t believe in gay marriage? Don’t marry a gay person. Problem solved. You don’t believe in abortion? Don’t have one. Problem solved. Don’t like the content of a novel because it’s too racy/violent/whatever? Then don’t read it. Problem solved. Don’t like the idea of dropping out of grad school?

Then.

Don’t.

Do.

It.

Problem solved.

Let’s stop making controversy where there is none.  And let’s stop believing that the facelessness of the internet somehow gives you the authority to act like a complete asshole.  

But, most importantly, let’s have a little more compassion for one another - for those that we do and for those that we don’t know.

If you’re reading this, and you’ve got a crazy difficult decision to make in your life – I hope you find the strength you need to do it. I hope you find the resolve you need to do it. And, most importantly, I hope you do it for you because you’ve got to live your life. No one else can do that for you.

I leave you with a quote that a friend recently reintroduced me to:

"Your right to swing your arms ends just where the other man's nose begins.” Oliver Wendell Holmes

Anonymity is the best form of flattery...or something like that.

Let me preface this by saying thank you to Anonymous for being so candid with his/her response to my previous post. This is mine. 

I appreciate your desire to help. But, never fear, my standards aren't too high. My "life plans" as outlined here are not my life plans in their entirety - merely a dumbed down (or overly inflated, take your pick) version of the highlights. I knew coming here that I wouldn't be successful at everything. Does that make it easier? Of course not. I knew that I wouldn't write kick-ass grants from day one - that's just not how life works in general. What I thought when I came here was that I'd have a new home. Not necessarily a better one, but a new, fun and exciting one. I'm unfulfilled in my classes and largely unimpressed with the quality of teaching. Purdue has plenty of money and plenty of labs - but this is not my home.    

I've attempted to force it to be so for 5 months now. I've had issues here from day 1 - some that could've been avoided, some not so much. How much longer am I supposed to be unhappy? What time limit do you recommend? How much time is enough time before I've done everything that I could've done in everyone's opinion but my own?

I don't find your comments abrasive. I honestly appreciate a fresh and different perspective. But, please understand - this is not a decision that I've come to lightly. I've talked to my peers, my superiors, my family and my friends - at the end of the day they all pretty much said the same thing - the decision is yours.

If I wanted it bad enough, I'd fight for it. If I thought it was worth it, I'd fight for it.  In my opinion, what I have (or don't have) here is not worth fighting for.

I miss my family. I miss being 5 hours away from my parents. I miss my friends and our all night gaming sessions and pizza parties. I miss waking up to my boyfriend. It's hard. It's even harder when you haven't been fortunate enough to make those same sorts of connections in a new place. This is not something that I can simply endure for another 5 years. 5 years is a long time to be in a place where you are unhappy. Have you ever seen Office Space? That is what my life is quickly becoming. I really don’t want a poor defenseless printer to bear the brunt of my frustrations.

Purdue is one school of many. West Lafaytte, IN is one city of many. Leaving this place does not somehow prevent me from being happy AND getting an education elsewhere. It isn't the end of the world. It’s just the end of my time at Purdue. Your school, wherever that may be and assuming that you are in school, may seem like the bee’s knee’s to you, the cat’s pajama’s, the alpha and the omega. Purdue has not become that for me.

You may be able to endure a long distance relationship (if that is the case) and be away from all that you’ve come to know and love. I thought I could, too. I thought being a military brat would make it easier.  It didn’t. What’s right for you and what’s more important to you is not what’s right for me and more important to me. We’ve all got different priorities.I can have my cake and eat it, too – right there in NC.  

So, to bring this long response to a close, as someone who tries very much to improve upon the person that she is - yes, I do believe that I've learned and that I am still learning from my mistakes. Mistake #1 was sticking with something because I was good at it. Mistake #2 was succumbing to the fear that I would never be good enough to do anything else and would wind up at McDonald's for the remainder of my life.  Mistake #3 was ignoring my heart for months and months and telling myself that I wasn’t working hard enough/trying hard enough/being outgoing enough. From the outside looking in, and from this blog alone, it may seem like I haven’t. But only I can know what I have and have not done and only I can determine if that is or is not enough.

And if all of that isn’t enough to assuage your worries about my decision – It's freakin cold outside and I'm sick of being a humansicle. 

Why? Because sweet baby Jesus told me to.

Life.

What’s that?

The prelude to death.

Geez that’s depressing. But, honestly, that’s how I feel. Since 2005 I’ve had my plans, my future, my goals laid out in a perfect row. I’ve had each task and subtask set up to fall like dominoes. 

First, I thought – I’ll make a great doctor. I’ll become a bio major. I’ll ace all of my classes, take the MCAT, go to med school, become a cardiovascular surgeon or OB/GYN and my life will be golden.

Then, I discovered that I hated medicine and pretty much all that the institution of medicine stood for. But I still wanted to help people. I still wanted to use my degree to help someone’s life in some fashion. My experiences with research during internships and mentoring lead me to graduate school.

I found that I loved teaching and mentoring. I decided, screw med school – I’ll get a PhD and teach at the college level. Frantically I searched for the perfect school. I found it. I dove in head first – but not before I revamped my plan. Go to grad school, ace every class, write some kick-ass grants and win some kick-ass money, graduate, do a post-doc, then become a kick-ass teacher.

Plans…

What are those?

If nothing else, they’re almost exactly like ass holes.

My friend asked me if I ever had a moment where I had to stop and say “this is not my life.” I told her “every day.”

I’m afraid to leave because this is safe. My life up until this point has always been safe. I haven’t had to worry about money, about where my next meal was coming from, about bills. And I fear that leaving this place that has turned me inside out will thrust my world into a chaotic mess from which there will be no return.

Oooo the drama!

In all seriousness I worry about what it will mean if I don’t finish this plan, this task – if I don’t finish this. What will people think? What will they say? What will I do?  There are so many questions, so many other careers that I could pursue – and already I find myself thinking – I could do that – and making plans to get to whatever “that” is. I’m so worried about being a failure that I’m not taking the time to figure out what I actually want to do. I’m terribly single-minded. It’s a flaw. A curse. I wish I was more carefree.

Failure.

Such a lofty little word, isn’t it? Though, it’s only worth 10 points in Scrabble.

Failure.

I shudder to think of it. But then I think about all the people that are living their lives. All those people that are trippin’ the light fantastic in the homes of their hearts, living in cities with their families and friends and eating sushi and imbibing sake and I think – I want that back. I miss it so much.

I’m cold here and lonely. Worse yet, I’m incredibly unfulfilled.  I loved biology once. I thought we’d have a long and fruitful relationship. Now, I worry that if I don’t bow out, it’ll be too late and we won’t even be able to manage a friendship when the dust settles.

Some may read this and say, “you’re just giving up, giving in. You didn’t try hard enough.” I’ve got quite a few colorful words in my arsenal for you, whoever you may be. But, because I’m such a fuckin lady, I’m choosing not to share them.

I’m the only one who knows what I’ve tried and what I haven’t. And I’m the only one who knows what’s best for me, my life (or the lack thereof) and my sanity. And, fortunately enough for me, at 23 I’ve learned an age old lesson – people are going to think what they want, regardless of what I do. It is wholly unnecessary for me to prove myself to anyone but me, and baby Jesus. Cuz baby Jesus is awesome. Lesson learned. Can we fast forward now?

I’ve done a bit of soul searching over the last few months. I’ve been back and forth over what decision I would make. Should I stay? Should I go? I don’t know. (Hey, aren’t those the lyrics to a song?)

No more flippity flopping. No more whining. No more. I’m ready to go home. Failure and all.

I speak, therefore I am....speaking.

At the putrescently senescent age of 23, I sit in my rocking chair (okay really, my desk chair in lab) and continue to ask myself “what do you want to be when you grow up?” My mother used to ask me, whenever I had a ½ midlife crisis (which was any day that ended in ‘Y’) “what would you do if you could do anything, and didn’t have to worry about making duckets?” (That’s a direct quote, I swear! Also, for those of you that aren’t as down as my mother is, duckets = money. Oh, and down=cool). I told her then that I would either teach or write. Today, I feel so far removed from my desire to teach that I’d rather write. And hopefully teach through writing.  I wonder why I thought one was somehow exclusive of the other.

                

          I had yet another invigorating discussion yesterday evening with my roommate (from henceforth referred to as R. Matey) about language and how it is used to define who we are. How one speaks is often associated with how intelligent they are, where they come from, and – unfortunately – their status in society, so to speak.  I’ve been told on multiple occasions by people from all walks of life that I (here comes another direct quote) “sound like a white girl.” R. Matey brought this up in our freakin’ awesome pad yesterday evening.  She has the honor of teaching a cultural anthropology course at our institution and the issues of language and race were brought up during discussion.  Apparently, one of the students was frustrated by the fact that speaking “standard” English was associated with “sounding white” whilst (yes, whilst) anything else was associated with “sounding black.”

                This, dear readers, is an age old story that refers to a war that has been waged on our shores for as long as I can remember. My generation has lost many warriors in its salient fight against the destruction of English. Texting, Facebook, Twitter and the like are just the tip of the iceberg in what I like to call “technowarfare.”  This young lady brings up an interesting point. I’ve heard it all my life, now this woman (who I assume is younger than me) faces it as well –“why do you talk like that?” When I was growing up, I felt like I didn’t fit in with my extended family because I would always get that question. “Why do you sound like a white girl?” It pains me even now. I didn’t fit in with many of my peers in college because they felt, on some level, that I thought of myself as better than them. At 23, I still suffer from those feelings of never quite measuring up to anyone’s “standard”. I’m always too much of something for some circles or not enough of anything for others. Either way, I’m usually on the outside looking in.

Why is it so wrong to enjoy stringing together (what I consider to be) a properly structured sentence? With enjoying the sound of words like “putrescence” and “polyglot” as they roll across the tongue like fine (or even cheap, which is all I can afford and have no clue what fine is) wine? Why, with all of the words at our disposal, should I be left to say things like “it’s going bad” and “he knows a lot of foreign words and stuff?”  What’s more, why is it so common within our society and cultural circles to refer to “standard” English as the “white” sound? As luck or misfortune would have it, these sorts of distinctions run rampant in every cultural circle known to man!  I don’t get it. I fear I never will. I speak because I have a voice to do so. And when I do so, I sound like 100% pure USDA NeuroScienceGeek (more geek than neuroscience these days, but, alas (that’s right, alas), I digress).

                Yes, I AM upset. I know you’re thinking to yourself at this very moment – this girl’s got nothing better to do than complain about language. But, in my defense, I love the way language can both mold us and set us free.  I love that Edgar Allan Poe was able to bring such rhythm and such fluidity to the realms of poetry and short story writing (Annabel Lee anyone? Quoth “The Raven” shall I? Is that a hideous heart I hear?).  Maya Angelou’s “Phenomenal Woman” was perhaps the first poem that I fell in love with. I had no idea what “diamonds at the meeting of my thighs” meant when I was 8, but damn it I knew I had them! And, ladylike though I may be, I love the way successful, ahem, “oath swearing” can make a statement exponentially more powerful.

                So, yes, I AM upset. Speaking or writing in a structured form is not analogous to “sounding white” for those of us that aren’t white. It is not done to somehow denote someone’s status in society. We do not speak it so that we can “sound” smart.  It is done because it is beautiful. When we include tones, sounds, vernaculars, etc that are associated with where we are and where we came from it becomes even more beautiful! So please, dear reader, go forth – I beg of you – and find a word today that makes your heart swell, string together a sentence that will make the earth shake (not literally though, that sort of power could be dangerous), and, for the love of Pete and all that is holy, write something. WRITE ANYTHING. And I don’t mean string together a few SMH’s, LOL’s, and ITGTSSBAIDY2SSAI’S.  I mean sit down and write a letter to someone you love. Write a story (flash fiction, short story or otherwise) that tells your story as it is or as you intend it to be. Maybe the weight of the world will be lifted from your shoulders, if only for a day. And, if that doesn’t work, maybe you’ll find joy in writing the way your write, or in speaking the way you speak. It, like a fingerprint, is yours and yours alone. Whether it measures up to anyone’s definition of “standard” or not.   

                Like I said in my previous post, words have power. Thanks to Mr. Kemosabe (aka Google) I learned that today is the 50th anniversary of JFK’s inaugural address.  Just listen to his speech and you’ll surely understand.  The words he spoke inspired me and, like many, I wondered how he would’ve changed the world had he not been taken from us before his time.    I wonder why we do not celebrate him and what he stood for nationally….

This speech, like so many others, is why I choose to speak English as it was taught to me, and why you should find your voice and wield it with all of the dignity and responsibility that it is due. Forgive me if that makes me “sound white” or somehow makes you feel like less of a person because you don’t do it too. Consider “standard” English my form of vernacular speech.  And, as this post comes to an overdue close, think about how something as simple as a sentence – the way it’s uttered, the way it’s shaped, the way it is wielded – can have such a profound effect on something as explosive as race, as beautiful as self-acceptance and as  dangerous as life (and the  losses therein).

So, Mother Dear, I think I finally have an answer to your question. I want to be a writer when I grow up, whenever that may be. I want to embrace the English language that you and Father Dear so painstakingly taught me and use it to reach whoever I may reach, and teach whoever I may teach.

And thanks again, R. Matey, for inspiring yet another post.