It's amazing how quickly a year can pass. So many things have happened, and yet not much seems to have changed. The years and events blend in with each other such that the beginnings and endings of time periods don't seem to signify much. This appears to be the nature of graduate school, if not the nature of life. The passing of a year finds me still in Boston, and still in graduate school. I can still be found working at my bench, pushing flies or checking my e-mail. On the surface, all seems the same. However, the course of the year has changed me.
When I first started writing these journal entries, I was a lot less happy than I am now. I was extremely frustrated with my inability to control the course of my graduate career. Like any graduate student, I had experiments that didn't and wouldn't work. I struggled to decide whether to give up on a project that I began when I started working in my current lab. I had invested a lot of time and effort in this project and at one point, I really believed it would work. It was extremely difficult letting go, but in the end, I decided to stop working on it. Even though I felt that this was the best decision I could have made, I wasn't entirely happy with it.
In addition, I found that I had competition in our small and relatively unknown field. This revelation was both extremely unexpected and unwelcome. It put a new kind of pressure on me that I wasn't prepared for. One of the reasons I had been attracted to the field was the small number of labs interested in it and a resulting low level of competition. With these two major issues plaguing me, not to mention annoying everyday problems, both my attitude and motivation were faring badly. My issues haven't entirely gone away in the last year, but the way I view them has changed dramatically.
There are several reasons for this change in outlook. First, the influence of my fellow scientist and boyfriend has made me more, though not completely, relaxed about the unexpected twists and turns of lab work. He understands what it's like, which means that he can often offer meaningful and valid advice. And the stability and support of our relationship has made the lows of the year easier to endure and the highs more enjoyable. Second, the recent loss of a friend has brought my priorities into perspective. I realize the small everyday failures shouldn't really be that important. These days, I try to keep my focus on the overall goal, which is to do my work to my own standard of satisfaction. Third, time and experience have made me realize that working towards graduation with a positive attitude allows me to make more progress than struggling against a more artificial deadline.
In the next year, I hope to move on to the next stage of my life. I'm not sure what that stage will be yet, or where, but I'm ready for it. I'm looking forward to doing something new, whether it be teaching, consulting or working for a non-profit group. I still like science a lot and I want to use my education. Right now, the possibilities appeal to me in different ways and I'm happy to explore the opportunities that are out there.
After working towards my PhD for almost six and a half years, it seems that I can draw an important lesson about graduate school from almost anything. For example, consider the life of the emperor penguin, made famous by the recent movie March of the Penguins. These creatures live in one of the harshest climates in the world, where days and nights can seem endless and temperatures can drop to unimaginable lows. They struggle for food, warmth and the survival of their offspring. A careless moment can easily lead to the loss of a precious life. Graduate school, though not likely to be a physical struggle for survival, may seem to be an emotional and psychological one. The balance between success and failure is delicate and it feels as if you have to be ever vigilant. While I agree that graduate school is both important and challenging, it's no life in Antarctica.