Let slip the dogs of grad school...
There are certain traumatic experiences in life that people share which form bonds between them that are usually unbreakable; war, a disastrous plane crash…grad school. I have to admit I was not nearly as prepared as I thought I was when I took my first class. But when I took my second and third graduate class I began to realize, “Hey, the rest of these people don’t know what they’re doing either!” In grad school you’re never alone and you cling to others in your program like survivors on a life raft.
My decision to go to grad school wasn’t an easy one. I knew I wanted to make a change in my life but I wasn’t sure how to go about doing that. Graduate school was one of the options on my list to transition into this new career path. I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend the money on school considering I just paid off my first student loan a mere eighteen years after I graduated college the first time. Plus working a full time and going to graduate school at night with leave me little time for anything else. After some investigation into what I wanted to do with the rest of my life including what graduate program would help me get there. After some beer soaked soul searching (and financial calculation) I decided to tear the academic band-aid off and attend grad school settling on Communication as my field of study. I would be tired, nearly broke and have NO idea what I was doing but I felt it would be worth it.
Once the decision was made my only concern was how do I get into the program? After all, I was over eighteen years out of school and I wouldn’t classify myself as a stellar student when I was in college the first time. Truth be told, the first time around I could have gotten better grades if I DIDN’T show up for class. What genius thought it was a good idea to make art majors take math and science anyway? Faced with this dilemma I went to see the graduate coordinator for my soon- to-be program and explained my situation. Apparently I came to the right man because he had the Marauder’s Map on how to get me into my graduate program through the back way. His suggestion was to take a class in my program, ace that, get a glowing recommendation from the professor and my trivial scholastic record will be “overlooked.” He steered me toward a class in Rhetorical Theory (hold your jokes I’ve heard them all) and said it would be a good way to get my feet wet. I thought, “Good! I’ll start there.” Little did I know, not only would I get my feet wet but I would nearly drown in an academic tsunami!
Being an upper level course the class was filled with people who had already known each other for the past year or so. They were making inside communication jokes about theorists and professors which made me wonder what I had got myself into. These people might as well have been speaking German to me for god’s sake! That first night the professor went over the syllabus for the class I followed along as she went over her expectations from us. I felt my colon tighten a little more with each assignment she read off. A 3 page paper reflecting upon the reading due each week, lead one discussion based on that week’s reading then write and present a 15-20 page paper due by the end of the semester. The way I saw it I had 3 options at the moment I could pass out, make a subtle attempt at escape by jumping out the only window in the classroom or stick it out; needless to say I stayed. But the window ran a close second. After class I felt like I was Wile E. Coyote as he steps off a cliff then is suspended in midair while holding anvil and he realizes, “Oh shit. What have I done?” just before dropping to his doom. I thought I was smart person but obviously that will be put to the test.
The following week I returned to class no better than the week before. I did all the reading for that night which for me was the equivalent of swimming through oatmeal. I mean, come on! When you reach a certain academic status you’re allowed to just MAKE UP words? Who does that? “Intertexuality?” Imagine what came when I googled that little gem. Needless to say when I was finished reading the articles looked like a nearly finished coloring book complete with underlines and red circles marking up anything I didn’t understand. Once the reading was done I made (what I thought was) lame attempt to write my reflection paper based in the reading. Writing a reflection paper about something you don’t have a clear understanding of is like writing movie review of a foreign film only the day you went to see it the subtitle machine was busted. For that first paper, each word I typed on the page was a struggle but somehow I squeezed out three and a half pages to submit in class that night. When the discussion about the reading began I felt like I was back in middle school math class again. Everyone else seemed to sound like they knew what they were talking about and I didn’t want to chime in because I thought I would sounds like an idiot. When class was over I handed in my paper to my professor and tried to warn her that was the first time I had EVER written something like this before. She snatched the paper out of my hand and gave me a hurried “ok” before gathering her things and scurrying off. In hindsight that’s probably not the first time someone tried to appeal to her sympathetic side in order to avoid the slash of the red pen on their work. After I handed the paper in the first thought in my mind was that I was going to be two papers in before I know if I did a good job or not. At that point all I could do was wait and repeat the same stressful experience from the previous week, read something I barely comprehend and write about it as if I do.
At the beginning of the next class our professor handed back our papers. She placed my paper face down in front of me and walked away with no indication of how I did. I put my hand on the paper and slid it slowly toward me as if I was about to cut the red wire on a bomb. When I flip the paper over it could either way, the timer could stop or BOOM! My future could turn into so many tragic little pieces scattered across meaningless jobs for the rest of my life. Once I got the paper close enough I flipped it over quickly and slammed it on the table. I carefully looked through pages for any comments that may indicate failure. There were some checkmarks and maybe a circle but nothing earth shattering until I got to the last page. There, written at the bottom of the last page was, “Good Job.” I couldn’t believe it! The academic bomb didn’t go off, I didn’t suck as bad as I thought I did and my future was still intact. I was still in the Communication game! With that little boost of confidence I began to speak up a little more in each class, expressing my opinion without embarrassment (well, most of the time.) Granted, each paper I wrote was a struggle but at least I knew I could do it. The last hurdle of the class was the final paper and presentation. With this assignment I felt some of the anxiety come back, I hadn’t written a paper of this length in over fifteen years and I wasn’t sure if I had it in me. But I couldn’t let fear derail me, I had to stay focused (a trait which has not always been my strong suit.) I had come this far in class and I was not about to little a fifteen to twenty page paper take me down. I was so determined in fact that I handed in a nearly complete paper when the first draft was due. A class mate noticed the worry painted on my face because I didn’t think I had enough pages done for the draft. He leaned over to me and said, “Dude, don’t worry it’s only a draft.” Then showed me the one page he had done compared to my ten. That’s where I learned a philosophy that I carry in grad school to this day whenever I feel a bit overwhelmed I ask myself, W.W.B.D. (What Would Brandon Do?)
I finally completed the paper, the presentation and the course with flying colors (without keeling over from panic and worry.) At the end of the class, I asked my professor if she would write me a recommendation letter for my graduate school application. She agreed. The following summer I applied to grad school and was accepted as a conditional grad student pending completion of five required courses. Once I passed those (with a B+ or better) I would then be bumped up to a real living grad student. The next fall I signed up for two more grad classes (which goes against the unwritten rule that you should only take one if you’re working full time.) I struggled through and completed those classes as well with decent grades but this time I wasn’t alone. I made friends with some of the people in my classes (and some I knew from my first class.) I learned they were struggling just as much as I was and sometimes they didn’t know anything either. We bonded over class discussions, theories, term papers and beer. We vented to each other and supported each other when we needed it. Grad school is tough but when you find people who are in the same lifeboat as you, it makes it a little more bearable and a lot more fun. Here’s to us my academic brothers and sisters in arms. Hugs matter.
posted by M.J. Shipley @ 9:35 PM
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