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.

The Idiot's Guide to Flying: Part 1.5

Beware the geyser toilet!

The Idiot's Guide to Flying

I’m REALLY starting to hate flying. 

The undressing in the security line. The unpacking of my painstakingly packed carry on materials. The looks that people give me when they see my socks. (What? They’re socks. They covered my feet. They did their job. Don’t judge me).

The fact that people *still* don’t understand the concept of putting their freakin purses on the floor in front of them to save room for the rest of the poor peons that couldn’t afford $600 to check their bags.

The jackass that *still* doesn’t know that you have to remove your shoes, keys, laptop, cell phone, jacket, kidney.

Or the one that doesn’t know that water is always considered a liquid – and 3 ounces did not magically morph into 16. Throw it away.

No, I don’t want to dissect your snot – so please don’t sneeze on me.

I do not want to feel your hot, emphysema laden breath on the back of my neck, so please don’t cough on me.

The only person I allow to be that close to me is my boyfriend, so please find your way out of my personal bubble.

I paid for 1 seat. You paid for 1 seat. Neither of us paid for an extra quarter or half of a seat. Please keep your arms, legs and various extremities inside the plane and your ONE seat at all times. This isn’t kindergarten – sharing is no longer important.

Though, some rules of kindergarten still apply – like washing one’s hands upon leaving the bathroom.

And, as an add-on to the rule above, don’t lick your finger with an exaggerated SLURP SLURP SLURP before turning every single page of a shared magazine. Especially one that you drench in your spit and put back in the seat pocket. C’mon people. Have a little care with what you put in your mouth. You have no idea what person wiped their ass, didn’t wash their hands and then did the same SLURP SLURP SLURP routine with that exact same magazine. Sheesh.

And please, for the love of God, pack some gum if you’re going to eat anything even remotely flavored with onions.

Maybe it’s just me, but unbuttoning your shirt and applying deodorant in the MIDDLE OF THE AIRPORT just seems wrong. Though, that could’ve been the onion smell. Maybe that guy should’ve, oh I dunno, ventured to the restroom and slapped a little soap on those pits before covering it up with Old Spice or whatever it is stinky men wear these days.

And last, but not least, if you don’t like the above rules – take a freakin’ car. 

And, yes, I realize this has nothing to do with grad school....directly. But, think about how much the average grad students flies. Conferences, training, visits to home or the "grad student exclusive" asylum. You'll want to print this out and share it with the airport masses. 

Until next time. 

And you all said the Mayans were crazy!

Gather round boys and girls. I’ve got a secret to share. I, (Ex)Neuro(Ex)Science(Forever)Geek, have discovered the secret to instant and continued success in the laboratory. This highly volatile secret was discovered yesterday evening as I stumbled my way through an experiment. 

First I discovered that I failed an exam. An exam that I hadn’t studied all that much for, but that’s not the point. I prayed to the exam gods before taking the exam and did they come through? No! Apparently the other students got there before I did.  Though, from a philosophical perspective – my F was such a great F, my score so low, my F so magnificent in its F-ness, that it could technically be described as an EPIC F-ing WIN. (Think about it….)

Second, after returning to lab and discovering that I had enough cells to perform my experiment, and successfully navigating my way through the murky mire of methodical (love the alliteration) steps, I had a wonderful morning. Well…wonderful if we hop in the DeLorean and erase that F from existence (and ignore my astonishing foray into philosophy).

Third, I discovered that my successful navigation would’ve put Christopher Columbus to shame. Let’s face it – the man had no clue what he was doing. HE THOUGHT HE WAS IN INDIA FOR CRIPE’S SAKE! A TOTALLY DIFFERENT FREAKING CONTINENT! So, in paying homage to the big (or little – I don’t know how tall he was) C.C., I discovered that I’ve been using the wrong solution in my cells for about 3 weeks now. To add insult to injury, some of my samples weren’t treated properly – and naturally those samples were the samples that I absolutely needed.

-SIGH-

For those of you not in the science world – trust me. It’s frustrating. I’ve done three rotations – count em. Don’t worry. I’ll wait – and not one of them has turned out ANY results. I know, I know. It’s science. Shit happens. But does shit have to happen through three rotations? I would like, for once, for something to work. I’m in the second to last week of my rotation. I’m literally out of time to get this right. But hey, now that I know The Secret – Purdue will be calling Einsteinisha before the month is out.

Which brings me to The Secret.  My mentor, seeing my frustration, shared with me something only the absolute best first year students get to learn. Apparently – The Secret to success in the lab is SACRIFICE! My mentor said that they typically sacrifice mice, but I say – go big or go home! Think about it! Are you a graduate student? Do you want to spend 5 years toiling in a dungeon-like lab to churn out a degree? I’d say no. So, rather than sacrifice mice – I say sacrifice the undergrads! They’re in the way anyway. Clogging up the buses, taking our spots in the Starbucks line, guffawing about what they did over the weekend with all of their “free time” (whatever the fuck that is) and fucking up the grading curve! Sacrifice an undergrad (or two, maybe three to be safe) and you’ll be out of grad school in no time. If nothing else, you’ll feel better. I do.

But let’s just keep this between us, okay.

And, remember, with great power comes great responsibility. 

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

Egg, Face. Face, Egg. Acquaint yourselves with one another.

The dark, seedy underbelly of blogging makes my timbers shiver. Trust me, “the blogosphere,” as people like to describe it, is no place for the faint of heart.

Freedom of speech is a dangerous, dangerous thing – like icy hot; you think it’s great at first, everything’s going smoothly, you’re starting to feel good, and then –WHAM – your ass cheeks are on fire. (But that’s a story for another day…) This freedom, much like the right to bear arms, must be wielded with great responsibility.

Everyone doesn’t like what I write, and some make their opinions known more than others. I’m using this post to send out a very special thank you to all of those friends, both new and old, that have been valiant enough to come to my defense. It is very much appreciated.

That being said – self-reflection is a bitch. I’ve said on many occasions that I haven’t found friends here, and that’s honestly a gigantic, Chun-Li sized slap in the face to the people that I’ve met here at Purdue. They aren’t the tattooed, Japanese culture lovin, Super Street Fighter IV playin, movie goin, rhythm at the bottom of a bottle findin, hey – let’s get our toes done – on a whimmin friends that I have at home. But I’ll be damned if they aren’t people that I can depend on. I’ve done you, all of you, a disservice. I’ve undermined who you’ve been and what you’ve done for me in my time here and for that I am truly, deeply, honestly sorry.

I was so xenophobically focused on finding and forging relationships that were the same as the ones in NC, that I couldn’t see my new forest for its new trees. And yes, I know, that makes absolutely no sense – but let’s just go with it shall we?

I do have friends here. Not the same friends, but new friends. People that I can depend on to grab a quick bite to eat with me. People that will spend their gas money to swing me by the grocery store or pick me up from the shuttle stop. Friends that I can grab ice cream with. Friends that offer their time to listen to my woes. And, what’s truly impressive, is that I’ve got friends that will come to my defense, send me hugs, embrace nicknames like “R. Matey” and use words like “Schadenfreude,” even when I don’t deserve it.

I appreciate you guys, and I’m sorry I didn't give you the credit that you very much deserve. This post is for you. 

Forgive me?

And this is just because I think this picture is hilarious. Stare at it. It gets funnier the longer you look. 

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.

The meaning of life

I hate getting up early in the morning for class.  If there’s a reason for an early arrival to awake-dom, then I’m all for it. I’ll get up at 430 in the morning and operate on 4 hours of sleep to get to the airport.  I’ll get up at 330 to begin an 8 hour car ride for vacation. But I hate, absolute abhor, getting up at 630 or beyond to go to [shudders] class.

At least I did. Then I bought a TV for my bedroom, and suddenly the world made sense again at 630 in the morning. 

It’s something of a ritual of mine to roll over, beat my alarm senseless, flick on the light and immediately turn on the news. It gets me all riled up in the morning and makes me feel…well…alive. This morning, for instance, I watched a story on CNN about former Senator Rick Santorum.  They discussed a report in which the former senator stated that in the face of his views of civil rights, President Obama’s stance on abortion was “remarkable for a black man.” Hmm…Didn’t I just talk about this in my Dr. MLK blog post? I believe I did.

The former senator then goes on to say that he does not believe that “you’ll find a biologist in the world who will say that is not a human life,” in reference to a fetus.  Now, I’m a biologist. I spend my working days with biologists. And I can say for a fact that I’ve heard it a time or two where a fellow biologist has indicated that a fetus is not a person.  Now, the former senator has done something quite interesting here – which is why I both love and hate politicians. They are like the Fae in how they tell a lie.  

How do we define life? As an undergraduate, I encountered professors both young and old that had no set definition for “life," and it was actually the topic of debate in class one spring day.  I would say that we encounter “life” when we encounter a living cell, but that is my definition.   A fetus is comprised of living cells and, as a result of my current definition, a fetus constitutes life because it is a comprised of living cells.  But what is life to someone that is not a scientist? For those people of the world that haven't chosen to pursue scienece, life is often synonymous with “personhood” so to speak. So, for former senator Santorum to come forward and say that he wouldn’t “find a biologist in the world who will say that is not a human life” is not necessarily a lie, but it’s so far from the truth it might as well be. Asking someone to define life is like asking a person to define love.

BUT, the point of this post is not to debate what constitutes life, what makes a person a person, or even whether or not abortion is right or wrong.  The point of this post is to discuss the use of the “[insert adjective here] for a [insert race here] person” formula. The point of this post is to discuss, yet again, why the use of such language – while fully endorsed by our first amendment rights – is just flat out wrong.  I would hope that a former senator of the friggin United States of America would understand that, but sadly he apparently does not. (Watch out kids! He’s slated to run for president in 2012.)   

Why isn’t it enough that the President fights for civil rights? Why couldn’t Santorum have stated that President Obama’s stance on abortion was “remarkable given that he advocates for the civil rights of all people?” Why does the fact that he’s a black man have anything to do with it? I say this, because a statement such as the one uttered by Santorum makes it seem as if black people are the only ones that should care about civil rights. Would he have said President Hu’s stance on abortion (whatever it may be) was “remarkable for a Chinese man?” I don’t know. 

Maybe the problem is me. Maybe I’m just supposed to accept the use of the insert adjective/insert race formula and turn a blind eye to it.  Maybe I’m just making a “big deal” out of it.  Ha! As if I ever would!

This wouldn’t bother me so much if it was a small isolated incident, but we hear it everywhere we turn.  Remember “Barack, The Magic Negro?” Remember Senator Harry Reid’s comments about the world being ready for a “light skinned” black President with no “Negro dialect?” Remember Vice President Biden’s comments about the president being the “first mainstream African American that was articulate and bright and clean?” Naturally Vice President Biden said those words were taken out of context. And Senator Harry Reid apologized. And the esteemed leaders of our nation expressed the appropriate disapproval of that magical song. 

How about you just not do/say/engage in this offensive shit in the first place?  How many times are we supposed to sit back and accept it when people say "it's just a joke," or "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it?"

And since you care so much about civil rights former senator Santorum – are you also going to begin advocating for gay marriage? A right that, in my opinion, is a right that belongs to anyone that lays claim to it.

I also looked up the definition of life for my own edification. This is what I and my good friend Merriam found.

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. 

Happy birthday Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. You fought so that I would not have to.

For reasons that will remain undisclosed (sounds nefarious right?) I was liberated from my lab at an early, also nefariously undisclosed hour. Fully intending to arrive at my humble dwelling and instantly begin reading for my classes, I spent about 2.5 hours chatting with my roommate.  We always have very interesting conversations to say the least. We talked about a wide range of things from politics to the economic crisis in the US to hair to race relations (both in my country and her home of Singapore) to education.  Our conversation made me evaluate for the hundredth time whether or not I’ve chosen the right career for myself (but that’s a post for another day).

                For those of you who don’t know, have forgotten or have chosen to ignore it – we celebrate Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday on Monday, though his actual birthday is today – January 15. I noticed as I navigated my way through the deep and murky mire of science over the past week, that many people simply did not remember that Dr. MLK’s birthday was indeed upon us. Does it make me sad? A little bit. I don’t blame them though. It’s not their fault that we don’t celebrate culture and history the way that we should. It’s not their fault that we don’t talk about race relations in this country and many others as much as we should or even in the ways that we should. It’s everyone’s fault, including mine, that, often, discussions of race get swept under the rug.

                I opened this post by sharing that I’d recently had a very long, very thorough conversation with my roommate – who is from Singapore.  I shared with her, as I have done many times in the past, stories about what it has been like for me to grow up as a black person in the United States of America – I told her about why I’ve chosen to loc my hair, why black women began straightening their hair in the first place, why it’s so difficult for me to ignore the explosive racial politics of this country and, more importantly, what it’s been like for me to interact with people of my own race in this country.  What she told me, and what I’m sure many people outside of Singapore don’t know, is that the problems that face minorities in this country are much the same in Singapore. Issues of what hair is “good hair,” what skin color is the “right” skin color, which race is smarter, lazier, more prone to criminal activity, etc. Naturally, this is a dumbed down version of our conversation, and I could never ever hope to encompass the various issues we talked about in one single post, but I found it saddening. 

                I had no idea that she faced those issues in her home country, and I’m disappointed in myself. In my ignorance, I believe I thought on some level that Black people had a monopoly on discrimination and the self-image issues brought on by said discrimination. It is situations such as these, eye opening discussions such as these, that made me want an international roommate in the first place.  My education doesn’t stop in the classroom. I’ve always known that, and I’m glad for it; most importantly, I’m glad for roommate.  She’s given me perspective.

                I shared a story with ye olde roomie about a visit to a local pizza establishment in Virginia when I was about 15 years old.  Before this time I’d always looked at men like Brad Pitt and (my future love slave) Johnny Depp and stated “he’s cute, for a white dude.” At 14 or 15 years old I never really thought about the implications of that 6 word statement – as if men that weren’t black could somehow never be attractive! But at that very tender, very impressionable age, I walked into a pizza place to get some food and almost as soon as I breached the threshold, the young cashier looked at me and said “you’re pretty for a black girl!” Now, being 15, and having the emotional and self-esteem issues that most 15 year olds have, I did not know whether to be thankful for the comment or not. I said thank you – because my parents raised me to be as polite as their dilute southern genes would allow – ordered my food and went home.  It was an insult wrapped in a compliment (like pig’s in a blanket as I recently told a Canadian friend). One never knows what to make of statements like that. The one thing I took away from the incident was the overarching implications of statements like “you’re cute/you’re smart/you’re well spoken for a [insert race here] person.”  From that day, I’ve tried incredibly hard to never make comments even remotely related to the aforementioned formula.  

                As we proceed throughout our daily lives we don’t often think about how our words and actions affect others. We like to believe that they are just words, but – as we learned in elementary school – words have power and words hurt. We sometimes like to believe that our problems are the only problems that exist and are therefore the most important. We don’t think about the people a country over, or even over on the next street. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

                I read a headline the other day that questioned why people are only able to unite in times of tragedy. My answer, though unfortunate, is simple. It’s when we are reminded in the harshest way possible that we are not the center of the universe. It’s when we are reminded that we’ve forgotten how to be kind to one another. It’s when we are reminded that our lives shift further every day from the basic teachings of our lord and savior Jesus Christ.

                I’d like to end this by saying happy birthday MLK. He, like all of us, may have been flawed, but he fought for equality and, most importantly, for peace.

Go ahead and cry. I did....

My (fellow)ship's taking on water! Abandon (fellow)ship!

          Fellowship applications…suck. There. I put it all on the table. It isn’t pretty or flowery or even “educated” language, but it’s true. They suck.  I’ve been writing, literally, for eons. And before you ask – yes, I do indeed know what an eon is. And I’ve been writing for that long. Literally. 

          Because I believe in planning life to the nth detail – I began writing last Monday with the intention of writing one section per day. I skipped Wednesday, which turned into a skipped Thursday which turned into “eh, it’s Christmas!” Now, here I am, a week later, with only 2 sections of my application completed, pancakes in my belly, donuts on my mind and application writer’s block weighing down my thinking cap.  Remember those movies where the directors think it to be extremely important to show various clips of the struggling writer as he moves around his home carrying his laptop and coffee with him. He’s lying upside down on the couch with his feet against the wall and his head on the carpet. Or he’s sitting at his desk, leaning back in the desk chair that inevitably goes too far back causing him to fall.   That’s me.  Without the embarrassing “falling out of the desk chair” scene. I’m too classy and nimble footed for that. I’m the Audrey Hepburn of Ninjas. Wait…where was I? Oh yes, fellowship application writer’s block. 

Spending two hours scouring various articles, biotech companies and pubmed web pages regarding information for one single, solitary cell line is not my idea of fun.  Naturally this search brought up various tidbits of information that I did not need, which lead my brain down various woodsy paths to arrive at destinations it had no business at. Every time I read something, I have a Eureka! moment and think of an experiment that is so breathtaking, so earth shattering, so scientifically pivotal that it must be written down! And then, I remember, you’ve only 5 pages in this research proposal, 2 of which are to be spent on research design and methods. I’ve already decreased the spacing of my paragraphs to single and my font to 11. So, my earth shattering, breathtaking, scientifically pivotal experiment will be put to death by the slow strangulation of page limits. I hang my head in shame. In the midst of the research and spontaneous Eureka-ing, I still cannot write a simple research design section. I finally know what cell lines I’ll need, what questions I’ll need to ask – I even know how to answer said questions. I cannot, for the life of me, put it down on paper. Oh, sure, I can think about it out loud to no one but my imaginary friend Bob (and, NO, that is not what one would refer to as talking to oneself. Bob is here. I’m talking to Bob.), but I can’t write it.  I’ve been TRYING so hard, but the dang on cursor just blinks at me on the blank screen taunting me and laughing maliciously as everything I write gets discarded like yesterday’s Christmas wrapping paper.

                I have discovered that it is slightly easier to get things done when I grab a notebook and a pen and write out on paper, in the least jargony language possible, what I plan to do and how I plan to do it. But, for whatever reason, I’m not doing so well at putting it into the language a fellowship panel usually fawns over. I want them to squeal with glee when I use words like “superfluous” and “erroneous” and “bifurcation” correctly. I want them to say – “that is vocabulary that deserves $25,000 a year in funding.” But, alas, the mighty sword pen fails again. I am not slaying my blocked dragons. In the midst of my turmoil, however, I found a blog post.  Gather round kids, it’s advice time. 

                Fellowship and grant proposal writing requires a certain amount of planning, unless you’re name is Sheldon and you’ve been a physicist since you were 13 (that’s a Big Bang Theory plug, in case you missed it). Since most of us aren’t Sheldon, we’ve got to take the time to plan out what we are going to do and how we are going to do it. I take my research proposals section by section, completing those that I think are easiest. For me those are usually background and methods. The background is almost always a breeze because there’s so much information in the form of review articles out there. It practically writes itself. I did encounter, for the first time, something known as “specific aims.” I had no clue what this was. I’d never seen it in any other fellowship application I’d worked on. If you ever come across a portion of the research proposal that you’re unfamiliar with, contact the organization that funds the fellowship/grant.  Ask them if they could provide you with a bit of guidance as to what they are specifically looking for, and don’t be afraid to tell them that the application process (or sections of it) is new to you. They’ll either help or they won’t. Talk to your mentor (if you have one), a research advisor or a peer. If all else fails, Google it.  Or Bing it. Or Yahoo it. Whichever crumbles your particular cookie.               

  Now that you’ve got your questions answered about the aesthetics of the application, you can start thinking about how you structure each section. People do this in all sorts of ways, but the one major commonality between all proposals is continuity. You want your proposal to flow exceedingly well. If you let someone read it and they find themselves confused from section to section, your flow is off. Think of your proposal like a story. A good story keeps its reader intrigued, and says what it has to say without forcing the audience go back and re-read everything, searching for what they missed. You want your proposal to get from A to C without going to Z first.

If you read it, and YOU get confused, there’s definitely a problem.  If you read it, and YOU get confused, there’s definitely a problem. (Notice that's there twice...that's what I like to call "emphasis.")

                I think the most important thing that anyone can do when writing, well…anything, is to make enough time for proofing.  Don’t wait until 5 days before it’s due to start writing.  You want to have enough time to write a rough draft, write a final, and get feedback from your professors and advisors so that you can write the final final, aka the final².  More importantly, you want to have enough time to take a breather while you’re writing. If you wait, you’ll be rushed, stressed out and feeling pressure that doesn’t need to be felt. Starting well ahead of time allows you to plan for things like, oh I don’t…writer’s block maybe.

                With all of that said, I’m still a newb! Please, please, PLEASE talk to the more experienced people around you. This is all information that I’ve gleaned from my “elders,” if you will, and from reading a lot of how-to guides.  I hope my consolidation of what I consider to be the important points helps at least a little.  I’m off to take another stab at my methods section. I’d really like to give up and lay down in my comfy bed with a nice fantasy novel, but I’ve got miles to go before I sleep, and a (fellow)ship to save. 

IT'S CHRISTMAS...plus 48 hours...

IT’S CHRISTMAS!!!! I took the procrastinator in me and murdered her so that I could study hard for finals and turn in my take home early. Why the bloodthirst you ask? Because I was in a rush to get home.  I’ve got three weeks of bliss and I plan to capitalize on my time at home like any person with a type A personality should.  Based on my calculations I needed an 88 on my Biochem final to get a C in the class (graduate credit, yippee!) and an 80 on my neurobio final to get a B in the class. Isn’t that the worst? Where I was once one of the smartest people in my classes, I find myself at a loss for answers or critically sound responses to questions.  I’ve discovered, and please don’t take this the wrong way, that first year grad students are expected to be dumb. I know this isn’t the case for every first year student, but many of the second and third years have shared their stories with me. In many of them, they experienced the same things I am experiencing now. Mostly, I feel out of place. In class I can’t answer a lot of the questions some of my teachers pose. In lab, I’m constantly asking questions to the point that it borders on annoying. In lab meetings and journal club, I find it hard to draw conclusions about the presented material, or even critically analyze the data of some articles.

                I’ve shared this with my mentor and members of the labs I’ve been a part of thus far – mostly those of my second rotation – and I’ve found that most people feel like this during their first year. I’m starting to realize that I’m not incompetent, just that I’m not a scientist yet. I’m a baby scientist, so I’ve got to take baby steps. I’m still learning how to critically analyze articles and data and I’m not expected to have brilliant answers to questions while in class – I’m still learning. So, dear reader, remind yourself of this everyday while you are in graduate school. You are still learning, and this learning continues outside of the classroom and outside of the lab.  You aren’t expected to be a brilliant thinker in the first semester of your first year! You’re a scrub! The bottom of the pyramid! I recognize this now, at the end of my first semester, and it makes me feel slightly better about not knowing as much as those around me. 

So, I will move forward with this information next semester, and work smarter – not harder. I already work hard enough.  I will know more next semester than I did this one and I’ll grow as a student and a scientist.  I think the most important thing that anyone needs to remember is that whether or not you’re in school, there’s always something you need to learn – most especially in the realm of academia.  I signed up for graduate school because I want to be a teacher and a scientist.  Somewhere along the way, during my one year hiatus, I forgot that science is all about learning. Science is all about finding, gaining and expanding knowledge.  To adequately do something like that requires years of preparation. Those years start with undergrad and, well, they never really end.  I tried to shed my student skin too early.  Onward and upward, as they say; the second semester will be better than the first.

Until next time!

Update: I clearly forgot to post this before Christmas as intended, and, now it’s 2 days after Christmas so…MERRY 2 DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS! Purdue posted grades a few days after I originally wrote this post and I discovered that I pulled a B in neuro and a C in biochem (the highest grade I could’ve achieved after my dismal performance on the first two exams). I'm just mentioning my grades because I want you to know that the hard work does actually pay off. A 'C' may not seem great, but I was still able to get graduate credit for the course. I feel that I learned what I needed to learn. The grade, for me, isn't that important. 

I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and I wish everyone a safe new year!

L is for the way you Look at me...

L is for the way you Look at me...

I have one word for you: Snow. Terrible, terrible, DASTARDLY snow. I hate how innocent it looks - like it's slowly floating down from on-high to lull you to sleep. Don't fall for it. It's a trap! Because of the snow, now frozen all along the sidewalk, I almost busted my arse 3 times today. It snowed last Wednesday. It snowed Friday night and most of Saturday. This morning (Monday) it was literally 8°F outside. This is the kind of weather that makes this girl want to throw on her thickest pajama pants with her thickets pairs of socks, wrap her hands around a steaming mug of hot cocoa (damn near scalding) and curl up on the couch with her boyfriend. This is the kind of weather that makes this particular nerd remember all too painfully that she’s left her significantly better, other half in North Carolina. 

For many masters or PhD seeking students, the long distance relationship (LDR) is a very serious reality. The decision to stay with the one you love, or go and pursue your dreams is never an easy one.  My boyfriend and I had numerous discussions about him staying in the city that we both loved, or journeying with me to the city (and I use the term loosely) of my dreams.  He chose to stay. I chose to go.

Do I regret the decision? Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. Honestly, it depends on how my day went, how much I messed up in lab and how cold it is outside. Life would be easier if I had someone to come home to, if I had someone to wrap their arms around me and tell me that everything would be okay. I think it goes without saying that my subzero toes would be happier as well. But there are those days when I stop and think about those women that gave up their hopes and their dreams for love. I think about how many women give up parts of who they are to allow their loved ones to attain their greatest desires. And then I think about the sacrifices that I would have made for my significant other and what kind of person that would’ve turned me into – bitter, angry and resentful.  

I’ll admit, there are some days when I find myself a little upset that my boyfriend didn’t come with me, and I’ll even offer that when he came to a final decision about what he was going to do – there was some resentment.  I spent a lot of time focusing on what I would have done for him, while not really considering that those hypothetical things had never been asked of me.  Sometimes, we need to understand that it isn’t fair to expect someone to do something for you simply because you would have done it.  It took me a few months to understand that.  It took me even longer to be okay with it. I had to recognize that his decision to stay in NC was what was best for him and that he did not love me any less. It’s quite possible that he loves me even more now – especially since the left side of his bed is just as cold as the right side of mine.  Difficult, arduous, extremely hard – none of it adequately describes what it means to go from waking up to the same persons face for 4 years to waking up to an empty side of the bed.  It’s like trying to perform open heart surgery with no training….on yourself….and no anesthesia…blindfolded…uphill both ways in the snow. (Too far? Okay, I’ll stop.)

The long distance relationship is a tricky thing. You can’t spend as much time on the phone as you’d like because work/homework/studying/reading/everything almost always gets in the way. Skype is a GODSEND – most notably on those days when you just really need to see a loved one’s face AND hear their voice. My boyfriend and I spend a lot of time on Skype, playing video games and watching movies together and we talk to each other every morning while he’s on his way to work and I’m on my way to class.  The talking may seem excessive – but I’ve been with this man for 5 years now, and we’ve woken up together, driven to work together and pretty much been in each other’s space like that for most of those years. It’d be weird to not talk to him.

So far I’ve seen him every month since I’ve been here, which makes the distance marginally less noticeable, but it’s still not enough for me. I miss my significantly better, other half and there aren’t enough doughnuts in the world to fill that particular hole. (Hehe – get it?)

The decision to embark upon a long distance relationship is hard as hell. It makes a hellish transition even more…hellish.  Not only do you have to contend with making new friends, passing classes and performing well in lab, now you’ve got the added pressure of maintaining a relationship with your boyfriend or girlfriend. If ever it seems too tough, or the pressure becomes too much to bear, remember one very important thing: an education will always be there; the person that you love with all of your being may not be. Ask yourself which one you’d rather have. Do not base your decision on what could happen, but base it on what is. If you decide that you want to maintain that relationship – then be prepared to work just as hard at that as you do in the lab or in your classes.  Plan time with your significant other in the same way that you plan time for homework at the end of the day. Send him or her text messages throughout the day just to say hello. The cell phone is a wonderful little thing. Yes, it’s encroached on our lives like the Black Plague, but I can’t adequately explain how happy it makes me to look at my phone and see that my boyfriend has recently texted me. ESPECIALLY when I’m having a crappy day (which, let’s face it, is every day).

So far, that is what’s worked for us. I’d love to hear from you what some of your personal do’s (and don’ts) are.

Until next time!

(Look at me! Two posts in one 7-day period. Master of the clock, that’s me! Or is it mistress…)

Ask and you shall receive...an answer...

I betcha thought I forgot didn’t you? I have been busier than a chicken looking for its cleaved head – so posting on my blog has been at the bottom of my to-do list for the last few weeks. I have time for eating, sleeping and studying. If I’m lucky labbing (yes, labbing – look it up in my dictionary…) works its way in as well. My last post requested questions and I got a few which I will answer below. The answers may or may not be helpful to you, dear readers. If not, I will happily tender you a refund for the money you have paid to view this particular post.

What was the worst and best thing about your first day as a graduate student?

I consider my first day as a grad student to be the first day of orientation – though you may have been thinking of my first day of actual class. I will answer this from both perspectives. The first day of orientation was great because I finally got to meet my peers. I was excited because it was the beginning of a new phase of my life – I would be surrounded by fellow science geeks. I was, (danger: exciting language ahead) SUPER STOKED.  The worst part was, unfortunately, realizing that the sort of acceptance I craved as an undergrad would be the same sort of acceptance I craved as a graduate student. We go through life looking for those that “get” us. I found those people in NC. I left most of them in NC. It was a sobering day for me.

My first day of class was terrible because I had to get up before Jesus to be in Biochemistry on time. It was great because, well, how many of us can say that we got up before Jesus?

What would have made the transition easier?

Transitioning from NC to Indiana would have been easier if I’d scooped up Purdue and placed it in NC. Honestly, I don’t know that anything could have made it easier. I think the difficulty of transitioning is part of the process. The only way the transition would have been easy is if I hadn’t found and made a home in NC. I think the worst part was when my boyfriend got in his car and made the 12 hour drive back home. I’m a crier. When he left I didn’t cry. I sat and stared. I think his departure left me a little broken. Now that I think about it, the one thing that would have made it all easier was…vodka. Lots and lots of vodka.

In what way were your expectations met? What disappointed you?

Most of the people at Purdue are always willing to help. The person that stands out for me is the director of interdisciplinary graduate programs on campus. She has always made time to talk to me. She sat with me while I cried about missing home. She offered me advice on mentors that could help me really be successful here. She provided me with open and honest guidance – and not once did she ever make me feel like I was wasting her time. She did these things because she genuinely cares about the students she recruits to this university. If I take nothing else from this university, I will always carry her compassion with me.

As many of you know by now, there are many things that disappointed me about coming here, but the number one thing is the quality of teaching, which is something I plan to discuss extensively in a future post. I’ve no doubt that the instructors here are great SCIENTISTS, but being a great scientist does not necessarily make one a great teacher. As I told my boyfriend the other day, if doing something made you great at teaching it, then professional basketball players would become professional coaches – and how often do we see that?

Is there a forum you can access to help improve grad school for next year's incoming class? Should the school assign mentors to newbies?

I don’t know if there’s a forum available, but I do know that the PULSe program has a student council that has openly welcomed our questions, concerns and thoughts. Every year they solicit information from the most recent class for making the incoming class’ life easier. I don’t know if the graduate school itself assigns mentors, but my program assigned each of the students in my class with a mentor. My mentor is awesome. We’ve met a couple of times thus far, and she’s been really instrumental in helping me adjust. She’s boisterous and fun and reminds me of home.

Can you start a support group so no more students feel as alone as you sometimes feel?

Support group? But that’s what the blog is for! Starting a support group may not be necessary given the many resources that I’m slowly discovering are available on campus. If I was to start a support group, it wouldn’t be until during or after my 3^rd year. This gig is hard work. The absolute last thing I want to do at the end of the day (after sitting in poorly taught classes and slaving away on experiments that always seem to go crazy in annoyingly different ways) is think about getting an entirely new program off the ground. I would like to use what I learn from my experiences to help prepare other first years for what grad school is really like, but, as always, the question is when? For now, I just need to find the time/courage to go and participate in one such group already made available to me.

Questions? Comments? Snarky Replies?

I had a brilliant thought today. So brilliant in fact, that I had to spring up from my temporary graduate student desk, thrust my arms into the sky, tilt me head back at an awkward (and painful) angle and shout - MUAHAHAHAHA! (Please  note: scientists typically do this once every few hours. It wakes up sleeping undergrads and boosts the morale of fellow lab members)

I decided today that it would be beneficial to you, the world (and by the world I mean Mom, Dad, Boyfriend, and Friends - aka my faithful followers), to offer up some questions of your own that I might seek out the answers to. My experiences can't possibly cover every minute detail of graduate school. The point of this blog is to answer questions for future graduate students out there. I can't do that if I do not know what those questions are. So, as long as I don't start receiving crazy, mean-spirited, uninformed comments - I'm leaving anonymous posts open for those of you too shy out there to leave your names. Ask me any question regarding graduate school, life as a student, etc, and I will try my very best to find the answer and report back to headquarters.

Until next time, dear readers, I bid you adieu.

If you're happy and you know it...take a shot!

So, it occurred to me overnight in my infrequent conversations with the Sandman that my blogs are starting to take on a negative nancy (Nathanial? Natasha? Noob?) kind of tone. It got me thinking that maybe I should write about the positives of graduate school.

Thus far I’ve discovered a new donut shop, which, I believe, is my personal gift from God. It’s His way of saying “grad school will suck more often than not. Have a donut to dull the pain.” In all seriousness, I’ve learned a lot in the last few weeks. I may not be performing as well in my classes as I’d like, or meshing with my peers as much as I’d like, but I am learning. And of those people that I have met and that I have befriended, they are amazing.

We all know that classes have the tendency to be dry and boring. Almost nothing changes when you get to graduate school. Most of my learning happens in the lab. I’ve had the pleasure of growing real live cancer cells and watching them shuck and gyrate underneath the microscope. I’ve recently done my first western blot and may even get the chance to engage is mass spec analysis. My principal investigator even told me that depending on the outcome of my project – there’s a very strong possibility for authorship on a paper, which is a big freakin deal! For those of you out there that have no background in science – just trust me: it’s awesome!  I’m surrounded every single day by people that are willing to teach me amazing things. It’s a blessing.

I’ve met people from Singapore (my room-mate), Germany, India, the Phillipines, etc. That’s one of the best things about Purdue, in my opinion – getting the chance to meet people from all across the globe.  I’ve met Boilermakers that bleed Black and Gold. It’s amazing that this tiny corner of Indiana can house so many people that have such spirit and excitement when it comes to Purdue University.

A few weeks ago, I got to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show for the very first time – acted out in front of a big screen. I will never forget that night (Great Scott!).  Tomorrow evening I’m going to my very first poetry slam (in which I wanted to perform, but am too chicken to do so).

It may seem like a paltry list in comparison to how much I’ve ranted about being sad and depressed here. But I am trying to be more positive. So I guess that’s the take away from today’s short (but sweet!) post – try to find the things that make you happy and focus on them.  I’m trying to make my weeks bearable by focusing on the things that I can get lost in – like poetry and movies.  Maybe from now on I’ll temper every frustrating aspect of my day with a positive, bubbly and uplifting one. I must admit that I am a pessimist to my very core so, we’ll see how long this new “focus on the creamy goodness in the middle Geek” lasts.

Until next time readers.