I actually sing this to myself when I'm getting out of the car some days. Partially cause I like Willie Nelson, and it's fun to sing country in an overly vibratto way. But also because it's so, so true.
I try to wrap it in wry humor (because it is supremely funny in an objective, universe-sized way) but at some point I had to come to terms with the fact that I was doing this to myself. Grad school is a deep, dark, lonely swamp of self-doubt and confusion, and having to fake it. But no-one made me go, and no-one really made me stay through to the end (-ish). So I had to accept that no matter how anxiety ridden I am, it is self-inflicted. Which makes you really think about why you're doing it.
I can't say I've figured that out. I think in the end, I am addicted to thinking about the brain. I get to a point where I don't want to know anymore (I think things are now just getting knocked out of there whenever I manage to remember anything new), but then I hear about something on the radio, or a new idea just pops into my mind, and I'm back reading papers and my mind is cranking again.
To me it's like Gorgonzola. I think that I don't like it, but I'm not sure, so I have to try it a little bit more. I'm intrigued by the experience.
The last six weeks were very trying intellectually, but especially emotionally. I still feel embarassed about my document - there are at least 3 very weak sections that were written too close to the end, and that I wasn't thinking clearly about when I wrote them - but am trying to just press on with my defense. I'll worry about the written part later, since I expect there will be revision.
Send all the good thoughts/prayers/wishes you can out toward Southwestern PA. I'll let everyone know how it goes.
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2 comments:
Sweetheart,
you are just beginning what you are capable of. You are the best of the best and there is no limit to your capacities. You have a brain that is like a Stradovarius, finely tuned and able to produce miracles.
I can remember having those thoughts about first in, first out, as if the brain were like a line of billiard balls and pushing one thought in resulted in one being pushed out. Then I read about John Stuart Mill.
If after fifty years of accumulating thoughts and ideas I can even remember Mill's name, there must be an almost infinite ability to store new things. The old things may be stored way in the back, covered with dust and cobwebs, but they are still there. The earliest thing that I can remember occured when I was three years old.
Gorgonzola is iffy but then there is Stilton. Way up at the top is Roquefort. Of course Roquefort is French but everything that resides at the culinary zenith seems to wear a beret.
You are a marvel. You are destined for greatness. Sometime in the future, some person will be inspired by the example of Ericka Causey Holmstrand.
Red Leicester can be nice also,
all of my love, always, daddy
What your dad said.
And good wishes and love, too.
Nancy
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