Miles to go

When I finished my last class required for my Ph.D., I joked that I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I weren't a student anymore.  After all, except for the two years when I was in PULSE and then teaching high school, I have been a student since I entered kindergarten at age five.  But I'm ready to graduate, to continue my learning from the perspective of a teacher, to take up my career with both hands.  I would like to thank the universe for taking my concerns seriously and proving to me that I am, in fact, ready for the next stage.  Now, I yearn for motion.

The main impediment to forward progress, at this point, is my school.  I seem to have dropped through the cracks.  When I was wrapping up my coursework (back when I was joking about how my unimaginable a non-student life was), I met with my advisor--Dr. S--to discuss the next steps in my degree.  She helped me work out a plan for my comprehensive exams, and--although she was retiring from teaching at the end of that school year--assured me that she would be willing to work with on my dissertation.  My plan was carefully laid, and I had just begun to lay into it when things went awry.

The loss that I felt with Dr. S's death was, of course, far more personal than academic.  She was rumored to be one of the most demanding professors at the school, but I found that I was more inspired by her than daunted.  She was so obviously enraptured with these writers that she taught that it was hard to resist following her down the rabbit trails of questions and symbols she teased from the texts.  In our one-on-one advising, she had been fully supportive of my academic skill and interests.  The term "kindred spirit" comes to mind--she felt like family.  Losing her was terribly sad.  I had not even known that she was sick.

In the aftermath of Dr. S's passing, however, I had to figure out the best way to proceed in my studies.  The convener for my department assured me that they would be hiring a new Americanist soon.  In the meantime, there was one other Americanist on the English faculty (Dr. S-W), though her expertise ran a little more in the 20th Century than in the 19th (my area of interest).  Still, I had taken a class with her and had good rapport, so I turned to her to help cover my 19th C. American comprehensive exams that were initially schedules with Dr. S.  Along the way, we talked about working together through my dissertation.  She agreed.  So I plunged ahead into my comps.


I finished the exams about two months before our wedding, last year.  In the interest of remaining sane, I postponed any serious work on the dissertation process until after the wedding.  It was the right thing to do.  I poured myself into the preparation and anticipation of that beautiful, beautiful day, and I was not disappointed.  I don't expect I'll ever regret that decision.

In October, I contacted Dr. S-W about beginning on the dissertation work.  She replied, apologetically, that she was planning on retiring, and she would not be taking on new dissertation students.  I understood her reluctance to begin a new project that would probably last two years or more, but it was another unforeseen disruption to my plans, and it was hard to stomach.  Add to it that the promised new Americanist hire was still only a possibility, not a guarantee.  "Wait," Dr. S-W counseled me.  There is not much to do before January, when the decision will be made about the new Americanist.  If the hire was not made, she said, then we might revisit working together.

The hire was approved.  What I had not realized, however, was that this new faculty member would not be starting at my school until September.  I gritted my teeth and accepted that it was best to postpone my work further.  I wouldn't want to get too far into a particular idea and then have to begin again if she did not approve.  In a way, it was fine timing.  I could switch into support mode for YERT during their world premiere.  I served as sometimes secretary, cook, and cheerleader in the following months.  Meanwhile, I continued to read and develop my ideas for a dissertation, so that I would be ready to hit the ground running, come September.

But somewhere along the line, I was again forced to rearrange my plans.  September, it turned out, would not see a new Americanist arriving at my school.  She had to finish a book she was working on.  Her employment with my school would begin in the Spring of 2012.  I felt like my hands, so recently full of Things to Do, were empty . . . and sore from grasping false assurances. I had been begging to begin for months, and now I was told, again, to wait.  I did not want to be turned aside and told to sit down and wait my turn.  It was enough.  I had all I wanted and more.  But what could I do?  I had been tossed from advisor to advisor like a nuisance, not a student.  I had never gone through this process before--it was like one of those dreams where I find myself on stage, never having seen the script.

Since this piece of news, there have only been more confusing and unhelpful interactions with my school.  My third academic advisor is now going on sabbatical.  She gave me conflicting messages about whether or not I could ask someone outside of the school's faculty to serve as my dissertation chair.  In the meantime, I began searching in Pittsburgh for a professor who might be qualified--thankfully, I have found two professors who are willing to advise me through the process, whether or not they will be official members of my committee.  But, back at my school, I have again been referred to the incoming hire, not starting until 2012.  This week, I sent an email to the Dean explaining my situation and asking for concrete answers about some of these issues.  No reply as of yet.

All this to say: I want to . . .  I need to . . . I am ready to move forward.  It is in my nature to get permission first, to receive instructions before I meet, even exceed, the requirements laid out for me.  In all my years as a student, I have been compulsively rule-abiding.  But now I find myself in a place where nobody seems to know what rules apply to me.  During my time as a student, the program changed around me in dramatic ways.  They've moved on to a new puzzle, and I'm just a leftover piece from the last one.  So maybe I need to instruct them.  Maybe I need to assess their problems, offer them solutions, and get myself free of their broken system.  Maybe that's what it means to stop being a student.