Tag Archives: grad school

Ten years

I realized today that, as of a few weeks ago, I’ve lived in New York City for ten years.

In 2002, I was a college senior in Mt Vernon, Iowa. I’d received a few different offers for graduate school fellowships. In the end, I ended up choosing CUNY more or less on a lark; NYC seemed like a cool place to live. So, I packed up a truck, and moved to a city two thousand times the size of Mt Vernon, and one hundred times the size of any city where I’d ever lived.

In everyone’s life there’s a handful of breakpoints: moments at which you make a decision that (intentionally or otherwise) forever and irreversibly changes everything. Ten years on, it’s dizzying to imagine the path not taken – the road that didn’t lead to this city, this job, this wife, this child, this me. I’m humbled, and somehow comforted, by the power that chance and caprice wield over the formation of the things that make up a life.

Here’s a picture I took of myself a few weeks after moving to my first place in NY, a shared apartment at 129th St and Lenox Ave:

Plus ├ža change….

One year as an ex-academic

I realized the other day that it’s been just over a year since I quit graduate school, and by extension gave up on a life in academics. It was around the middle of April 2011 when I submitted my resignation letter. (I was spending the month teaching a course at my alma mater, and I felt more than a twinge of poignancy at the fact that I wrote the letter just a few hundred feet away from where I’d written my acceptance letter about nine years earlier, during my last semester of college.) Anyway, I thought I’d take a moment to reflect on how the year – my first spent as a non-student since I was four years old! – has gone.

The most personal of my fears about leaving graduate school had to do with the way I define myself. I was proud to think of myself as the academic type, and doubly proud to think of myself as a philosopher. (Observation: when someone who wears many hats does some work in philosophy, it’s common to see “philosopher” move to the front of their list of self-descriptors. Quelle prestige!) I’d spent about a third of my life under a certain avatar (in name if not always in practice), and I was nervous about casting it aside. How would I think of myself? How would I describe myself to others?

It turned out that the transition of self-definition was much less difficult than I’d feared. There are a few reasons why. First, from a practical point of view, I wasn’t really that engaged in my academic work anyway. The second half of my graduate career was characterized by attempt after semi-subconscious attempt to distract myself from the philosophical tasks at hand. These attempts were overwhelmingly successful, with the result that even when I did devote large amounts of time to doing philosophical work – which happened in fairly infrequent but significant bursts – my heart wasn’t really in it. A second, related reason for the easy transition is that, as a result of years of productive distraction, I had a number of alternative, and more meaningful, identities on which to fall back: software/web developer, educational technologist, teacher, etc. I imagine that such a transition would be far more difficult for someone who didn’t have viable alternatives.

So, from the internal point of view, the transition from academic to ex-academic went more smoothly than I’d hoped. The external transition – how the change has affected my relationships with others, or at least how I perceive the relationships – has been a little bit harder.

The thing is that, while I’m not one of the academics anymore, I spend much of my time with them. Most of my professional work is for universities, and many of my friends and co-workers are tied to schools in one way or another. Thus, I haven’t been able to quit the academic world cold turkey: I still have to go to meetings, deal with institutional BS, navigate political obstacle courses, etc. These are the crappy parts about working in universities, and becoming an ex-academic hasn’t made them any better in my case. (Admittedly, this is because of choices I’ve made to continue working where I work. I have friends who have left to go into, eg, banking.)

In addition to the more obvious annoying bureaucratic details of working within the university, there are the negative social aftereffects of dropping out: I don’t have a PhD, and never will, which means that I’m viewed (or at least, I feel like I’m viewed) in a different way. My opinion on academic matters just doesn’t matter in the same way anymore. I suppose that’s as it should be: the more time I spend away from the day-to-day of the university, the less relevant my opinions about that day-to-day become. Thus, when doing development work with universities, I’m a developer with some helpful experience in academia, rather than a technically-inclined academic. I should note that there have never been any specific instances where I’ve been called out on this distinction, or where it’s had an obviously negative effect on a relationship, but it’s always there in the background. (On a related note, I’ll probably never have a job where I, say, lead an academic computing program – but that’s not something I really want anyway.)

Thus, while I hate to sound sourgrapesesque about it, I haven’t lost much of anything by dropping out. I’m still heavily engaged in enabling the functions of the university that I find most important: teaching and scholarship. It’s just that I do it one or two levels of abstraction higher than when I was in the classroom or the library, and maybe it’s just as well.

On a personal level, the gains of dropping out have been enormous. Not only do I no longer devote any time to working on a project that I’m not really invested in (the dissertation), but I also no longer feel the crushing weight of the unfinished dissertation in my spare time. In the past year, I’ve read more broadly than ever in my life, discovering and developing areas of interest that I would never have dared to devote time to. I’m a new dad and I work from home, which means that I’ve been able to be the kind of dad I’d always hoped I’d be, without feeling guilty about the work I “should” be doing. I’m making an amount of money that is directly connected to the quality of my work, a startling and frankly disarming contrast to the way things seem to operate in universities, especially in the work I did as an adjunct. It’s been about a year since I intentionally read anything explicitly philosophical, but recently I’ve started to feel that itch again – and when I pick up a book or article, it’ll be because of an independent interest, rather than because it’s in an Important Person’s Bibliography.

So for me, quitting graduate school has been a nearly unmitigated success. It took years to work up the courage, and to develop the alternative paths that would make quitting feasible, but once those factors were in place, it was really the best decision I could have made.

2011

A bunch of stuff happened in 2011.

Like 2010, 2011 was a year of transitions for me: in my relationship with academia, in the way I earn a living, in the way I present myself as a citizen-builder of the internet. Being a parent is the biggest transition of all, forcing me to put into perspective the ways I spend my energy and the ways in which I define myself and what has value to me. (This transition has been overwhelmingly a Good Thing.) Continuing to strive for the right balance in these areas will, I’m sure, be a hallmark of my 2012. (Thankfully, I have no plans to have a child or get married in 2012. A man needs a year off from major life events!)

Happy new year!

Dropout

I’m a grad school dropout.

A little over a year ago, I left my full-time instructional technolgy gig at Queens College. At the time, I cited my languishing thesis as one of my reasons for leaving. Through the summer and fall of 2010, I put in an honest effort toward my dissertation. It was certainly my most sustained and serious effort since finishing coursework a couple years earier. But I couldn’t figure out a way to enjoy it. I found myself far more productive in other areas of my life, which had the dual effect of taking the joy out of my academic work, and also demonstrating that I no longer had any career-related reasons to finish the PhD.

So, a few months ago, I counted my losses and withdrew from the program. I use the word ‘losses’ with some trepidation, as I don’t feel like I lost much, if anything. In the philosophy program, I learned a lot about philosophy, got some nice teaching experience, and met some good friends. And being in graduate school had a huge number of indirect professional and personal benefits for me. Except for the academic work, I enjoyed being a grad student. If, in quitting, I’m losing anything, I’m losing face. But, to be perfectly honest, if there’s anyone who thinks less of me because I didn’t finish my PhD, that person is more than welcome to kiss my ass.

What excites me most about formally giving up on the PhD is leaving behind the guilt associated with the unfinished dissertation. Many times in the past couple of years (and increasingly so, as time has gone on) I’ve been approached with an offer or an idea about some new project – writing, coding, eating, etc. Time and time again, I have turned down these kinds of projects, because I’d end up feeling overwhelmed by the guilt of working on something other than my dissertation. To tell the truth, I had even stopped reading books for pleasure, because I felt so bad about it. I’m looking forward to feeling more freedom in this respect. (Also, the baby’s coming soon!)

I’m not writing this post because I’m looking for any validation of the decision; I feel good about it already. I’m also not really interested in starting a large discussion about the value of graduate school or a graduate degree; my decisions are specific to my situation. I mainly just want to get it off my chest, so that I don’t have to have the inevitably awkward conversations about it. To wit: I was chatting with some academic friends at THATCamp and I told the group that I’d dropped out, which they took as a cue to rationalize and support my decision. It was, of course, very well-intentioned. But from a certain point of view it suggested pity, which I neither need nor want. I may be a grad school dropout, but I’m a happy one!