Now I see that earning a doctorate is not about acquiring knowledge, or even about honing researching and writing skills. I've written hundreds of papers, large and small, and read a thousand articles by hundreds of scholars. I've forgotten 90% of the knowledge I gained, and, six years into this journey, 99% of everything I studied is obsolete anyway, replaced by new theories and technologies. What will I have when I finish this degree? A smattering of mostly useless knowledge, the ability to research a topic and write about it... Is that all there is? Is that all I've learned after six years and $42,000?
No, I've learned something else of value. Pursuing a doctorate is not about learning a subject; it is about developing survival skills. That sounds melodramatic, doesn't it? What kinds of dangers could possibly threaten a doctoral candidate? It's not like I'm lost in the woods. I'm not talking about bears, lions, or escaped felons. The dangers that threaten me are the internal monsters that lurk in my mind: boredom, doubt, anguish, impatience, resentment, and despair, to name a few. I'm sure there are more. On a good day, my mind is trying to kill me. Pursuing a doctoral degree is like giving my internal saboteur a grenade launcher and hanging a target on my back.
Now I understand why so few people do this. How did they know, I wonder? How come I didn't get that memo? Why did I think I could do this? Why did I think this was going to be a good idea? What a complete and utter delusion. Don't tell my mother I said that. My promise to her is pretty much the only thing that keeps me going.
Survival skills for me consist of going to meetings, showing up for work, writing this blog, telling the truth (at least to myself), drinking water and eating clean food, cuddling my cat, and staying in the moment. When things get really tough, there's always hot baths and Janet Evanovich or Kresley Cole.
Maybe I'm not completely passionate about my dissertation topic. So what. I can survive boredom as long as I've got a paperback to dive into. Maybe I get impatient that this committee process isn't more efficient, maybe I get resentful at times at having to wait for flakes and incompetents (my opinion). Maybe I do despair at times. So what. A large percentage of the human population would be quite happy to trade places with me. I'm not so self-centered that I don't recognize that what I have is a luxury problem. Lucky me.
