These are the five things I actually learned in grad school.
- You don’t have to do all the reading to make a brilliant contribution to class discussion.
- Buying books every semester for two years is equivalent to sending yourself to Europe and back home again at least twice.
- Your term papers can turn into one of two things: pure bullshit with an extensive works cited list or a submission to the academic conference of your choice.
- Lattes were invented for the grad student to get us through our nighttime weekly seminars.
- You really should do all the reading when it comes time to take your comprehensive exam.
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The program director for my MA did not know me that well but she had me pegged when she said, you will not do well in grad school unless you cut back on your hours at work She also said that I needed more vitamins in order to fix my slightly crossed eyes. Which piece of advice do you think I took? Neither. I did okay in grad school, minus that one class where the misogynistic and professionally unfulfilled professor made it hell for my compatriot Faith and me. He is the reason Princeton did not come looking for me this semester to join their PhD program. Plus (ahem), I really didn’t try to get published at all or attend a single academic conference. There’s always more comfort in blaming others rather than yourself in these situations.
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My adviser was a brilliant woman but I never got her attention long enough to get some really good advice. The one time I got advice it was “Get married and have kids.” I politely smiled yet it took me a while to process this unexpected gem. I started to believe it when my female professors had similarly cheerful advice. Was I being weeded out? I’d already invested (ahem I mean borrowed) the cost of a new midsize car so I wasn’t about to pack it up simply because I’d been politely labeled a non-academic.
The plethora of domestic bliss advice did not drive me towards it nor away. Rather it imbedded a longing sense of dread and an existential crisis. This was not the first time I’ve received advice of a domestic nature. My senior year in college I received similarly bizarre advice from my humanities professor during a bus trip to the Cloisters: “Adopt a dog, don’t have kids, the world is over-populated enough. ” Ever since I started grad school, I’ve been looking into getting a dog. I have no room for a dog; unshelved books overrun my house.
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I cringe at the library of books piled up in my office. I know I bought certain books twice, Norton this and the special edition of that. I came to love him in the end, sadly enough. He saved me a lot of hours at the library mostly. Deep down, I have a crush on Norton, can’t you tell?
I got my Masters diploma in the mail the other day. It came in a cardstock case with my alma mater’s logo emblazoned. Thank goodness they spelled my name correctly. I really need to put it in a frame and hang it up in my office with a sign above it that says “Overqualified.” I do feel overqualified to live my life. I should be standing up on a soapbox in Times Square reciting Shakespeare’s Sonnets or something really clever. Instead I spend my down time reading the latest best seller or watching VH1 “I Love the [fill in your favorite decade here] Parts One and Deaux” Maybe I should have done graduate work in pop culture?
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My sister said the night before she and her fiancé signed their mortgage papers she couldn’t sleep. The enormous financial responsibility of a thirty-year loan haunted her sleep. I had a similarly frightening moment when I got the finally tally of combining my undergraduate and grad school loans. Unfortunately I got it in the form of an email just as my boss was walking into my office to drop of an assignment.
“Mags, what’s wrong?”
“Matt, I owe over $30,000” in school loans”
“Nice try kiddo, try having law school loans, a mortgage and three kids”
“Touché , touché”
