Category Archives: Ravynn

The Finale of Part 1: Graduation

For those of you who have been following along, you know that I am a PhD student at William & Mary. You might also know that I have recently graduated from William & Mary. For clarification, I was accepted into a MA/PhD program in American Studies, and last September I successfully defended my Masters thesis, thus officially moving me into the PhD portion of my program. Because it’s a rolling program, I defended and kept moving forward in my PhD work, moving through coursework and preparing my comprehensive exams lists– I was so busy that I barely got a chance to truly celebrate getting my Masters.

Until this past weekend.

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My Uncle Edwin and I

I participated in Commencement here at William & Mary and it was a truly magnificent occasion. My uncles drove up from Jacksonville for the graduation and spent the entire weekend with me and my family. My uncles, my parents, my grandma, my great-aunt and my aunt all celebrated me by coming to my ceremonies and going out to celebratory dinners and lunches with me for three days straight.

The festivity of the three day Commencement weekend was Donning of the Kente. This tradition was primarily meant for African American graduating students and a chance for the Black community to celebrate its graduates together, though our ceremony is open to anyone who wants to participate. Because it was a Lemon Project event, I spent most of my time before hand checking people in and handing out stoles. However, when it was time for the ceremony to begin, I was able to participate with everyone else. It was fantastic. When it was my turn, I went on stage to applause and my parents donned me with a kente stole. We took a picture and then we returned to our seats and watched as the rest of the students were donned. Though you are only allowed up to two people to don you, some students appeared on stage with their entire families. Grandmothers cried, children of the graduates cheered, many thanked God as they left the stage and others took selfies as they marched across.

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Me after Donning of the Kente

Afterwards, we had a big family dinner at Ruby Tuesdays and then everyone their separate ways for the big ceremony the next day.

Everyone congregated at my apartment around 7 AM Saturday morning in preparation for the outdoors ceremony to be held in Zable Stadium. Thanks to the ceremony being held on the football field, I was able to invite 7 guests instead of 4. However, let me stress that the ceremony was outdoors– in 90 degree weather. While it was a beautiful day (comparatively, my UVA ceremony was held outdoors in light rain) it was still sweltering underneath the mandatory ceremonial garb we had all donned for the occasion.

I marched in with the other Masters and JD students to the William & Mary hymn. Two surprises awaited me as I went to take my seat– first, I was able to spot my family amid the massive crowd. They had managed to find incredible seats near the front. Their seats were perpendicular to my own, which was incredibly, in the front, near the middle and directly in front of the stage, next to two other American Studies masters students. As the rest of the graduating class filed in, I waved at my family wildly, amazed that we could see each other and spent the rest of my time taking in the massive book-like program that had been made in honor of the occasion.

The ceremony was about two hours long and very traditional– the President of the University gave remarks, awards were given out, and senator Mark Warner gave the keynote address, advising students to stay involved in our democracy, not be afraid of failure and to, most of all, call your mother. There were however a few highlights: the President gave honorary doctorates of letters to the first three residential African American students at William & Mary, Lynn Briley, Janet Brown Strafer, and Karen Ely. An honorary doctorate was also given to Katherine Johnson, one of the first computers for NASA (you know, the one Taraji played in Hidden Figures? Yup, her.)

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Me with my 9th grade IB Coordinator Micah Smith

And after all of that was over, degrees were conferred. The most amazing part was watching people that I knew walk across the stage and receive their doctorates. I actually knew a lot of people graduating: James, who has been like an older brother to me in this program, walked across the stage; my dear friend, Sarah, who worked with my on the Lemon Project; Renee, Nabeel, and Janine, all American Studies graduate students; my friend Patrick from Anthropology; Beth from History; and incredibly, the woman who worked with my 9th grade class of International Baccalaureate students as our Coordinator. She was so beloved that we fought to keep her, only to eventually lose her to a more stable position in Newport News. Though she left, she kept up with my class, meeting up with us for dinner upon occasion and sending love and well wishes whenever she could. Running into her on her graduation day nearly sent me into a bout of tears.

Finally, we were dismissed from the heat and I was able to reunite with my family for pictures. We eventually made it back to my apartment for quick naps before heading out for a late lunch at Red Lobster.

My parents came up one last time on Sunday, which also happened to be Mother’s Day, for my American Studies Departmental ceremony. It was short, sweet and to the point, the highlight of which was receiving flowers from my friend, Kelsey. We ended the day by heading to Wakefield, where my parents grew up, for a barbecue at my grandmother’s and to spend some time with my great Aunt.

I woke up this morning, groggy and still a little tired from all the excitement, only to find one last surprise. I checked my grades and saw that all of them were in, and I had managed a 4.0 this semester. Yup, I got an A in my Comics class, my Histories of Race class and my Black Arts Movement Directed Research. I’m actually really proud of the work I did for all of these classes. For Comics, I wrote a tribute to Lois Lane adaptations in the last 10 years that I’m considering getting published. For my Black Arts Movement class, I wrote “Beneatha Younger’s Afro,” which attempted to modernize a classic character and discuss how she is politically relevant today. And for my Histories of Race class? I still can’t say what I did for that class because this might actually turn into a huge project for me– things are still unfolding, but just know this paper might be the first time you see Ravynn K. Stringfield’s name in print.

Now everything is over. My family has gone back to the regularly scheduled lives, I can stop holding my breath while I wait for grades to come in, and I can lay in bed watching Netflix all day for days at a time if I want to. Knowing myself, however, I know that will only last a few days before I’m back at the grind, working on comps lists and planning my research trip to the Schomburg Center. Side note, I applied for research money for the first time and received about a third of what I applied for, but if I stay with a friend, I should still be able to make the trip. (I will, of course, post about the trip when I make it, not to worry.) I also have a stack of books that I’ve been dying to dig into and art that I need to make, so I have some good, relaxing plans for the summer. I just hope that I can get it together and make it through one last semester of coursework. Then, onto my next adventure: Comps.

Stay tuned, guys, you won’t want to miss what’s next.

 

Week 15, or Finding Your Tribe

I think the primary reason I have yet to leave grad school is because I am so close to my support systems.

I have two really good sets: my parents and my UVA family, which consists mostly of the students I did the Black Monologues with my fourth year as well as the Dean and her administrative assistant that got me through my time there. My parents are an hour away and my UVA family is two hours away.

That’s how I spent my first weekend post-classes, split between Suffolk and Charlottesville.

My professor offered me an extension on a paper that was originally due on Friday but I didn’t take it because I knew that I was gearing up for one hell of a weekend. And I was not disappointed.

My soul sister, Micah, (whose post you should read if you already haven’t) was commissioned to write a full length play for the drama department at UVA. As soon as I knew that had happened, I asked for dates, knowing full and well the only place I’d be that weekend was in Charlottesville. I read a draft of the play, which she titled Canaan, followed her casting decisions, and waited.

As it turned out, everyone that she had cast had also taken part in the Black Monologues, the show that I had stage managed in 2015. (Plus Roberto, who did it in 2016 but I count him as one of my babies.) I reread the show in their voices. I waited.

Then, finally, classes were over and I could plan my trip to Charlottesville to see my loved ones. I made sure to go prepared. I created fan signs for all of them because I wanted a way to show my love and affection for each and every one of them. So I carried all six signs with me on my way into the theater, with my dear friend Caroline in tow.

Before the show, I snuck backstage to surprise everyone and was greeted with gasps and big hugs. I had never felt more loved.

Then Micah’s family arrived. I hugged her parents and her sister and was introduced to her cousins as Mrs. Watson’s “Extra Daughter” for the afternoon. My heart swelled. I sat in the middle of the row of Watsons and next to Micah’s sister while I watched the show. We laughed, we cried, some times we responded to events on stage, sometimes we could only watch in stunned silence. I couldn’t help but become overwhelmed with emotion watching Jordan on stage, knowing how far he had come. Taylor made me want to join the revolution; I’d follow that girl anywhere. B brought her Southern charm and sass to church girl, Lisa Sawyer. Roberto made me love and hate Eddie all at the same time. And I laughed at Madison’s slapstick humor and gossiping nature as Ms. Wilma, but felt moved by her more meaningful scenes.

I don’t know if I will ever be able to put into words how astonishing it was to see the same group of young adults I stage managed nearly three years ago grow into such accomplished, talented and amazing people.

All I know is that they are my tribe.

I found them late in my career; I basically had one foot out the door when I came to Black Monologues my fourth year at UVA. Ever since that experience, however, every time I have come back to UVA has been for that group of students. They are my heart. This was the last time I’m sure I’m going to get to see many of them in the same place for a long while because they are all graduating next month.

Their art sustains me, it breathes life into me, it helps me carry on.

This was the perfect way to end my semester, getting a jolt of love from those I love the most.

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Me and Micah Watson, the author of Canaan

Week 14, or Dealing with the Urge to Quit

I have been struggling with whether or not to write this post the entire semester. I pride myself on writing blog posts that have a positive tone because I recognize how difficult graduate school is without added negativity. But the fact of the matter is, sometimes you stew in the negativity and you can’t help yourself.

That’s where I was for much of this semester. I wanted to quit. I wanted to take my Master’s degree and find a job in publishing or editing. I avoided doing my readings and spent my time job hunting, googling What kind of job can you get with a Masters in American Studies? My parents didn’t take me seriously, but I spent much of January waiting for my Master’s degree to be conferred so that I could leave with it on my transcript. I hated talking about school, I was second guessing everything that came out of my mouth in class, and I was so tired of it all that I even told my advisor that I was considering walking away. I couldn’t fix my mind to write and I wasn’t retaining anything I was reading– it all slipped through my mind like water through fingers.

I managed to pull myself out of that funk, but not before I had scared my parents, my advisors and my friends. I wish I could say that love convinced me to keep going, but nothing anyone said made any difference. It lasted so long and I became so brittle that my friends in my program felt like they were walking on eggshells around me.

What did help was a project. I can’t say much about it because I don’t want to scoop myself, but thanks to a little help from a colleague, an amazing academic project fell right into my lap. It was perfect, a little black studies, a little comic studies and a little literature, all in one. I enjoyed the pursuit of the story, getting to meet people, getting to write about something I truly cared about. I wanted the story to be good because this was something that was bigger than me. I suddenly found myself rewriting history.

What did help was a community of Black graduate students also blogging/writing/podcasting about their graduate school experiences. The creator of the podcast “Blk + In Grad School,” Allante Whitmore, wrote a post featuring about 40 resources people of color had created for other POC in graduate school. While the post was amazing, what really helped was that she then invited all the creators that she had featured to join a GroupMe together. Through this community, we have been helping each other build our respective empires by lifting as we climb. Black Girl Does Grad School was no longer an island, but one of many sites working to aid women of color in their journey through the Academy. It made me want to redouble my efforts because working with this coalition made me feel like I was no longer shouting into the void.

What did help was time. Sometimes, you just fall into a funk and the only thing you can do is wait it out. I’ve written about how I journal, get organized and meal prep to make myself feel better, but occasionally, it just isn’t enough. If you discover that what you need is time, I hope that you have friends and family who are patient enough to weather the storm with you and they will continuously remind you that this, too, shall pass. And if you don’t find that support, be your own support system. Be gentle with yourself. Be firm about what you need to feel better. And be kind to yourself and others.

In order to get through this process, you really need to know how to prioritize yourself. It is mentally taxing, overwhelming and enormously lonely. I pulled myself out of my funk by first recognizing that I was in one, then taking the necessary measures to take care of myself, but I mostly gave myself time. I was unusually patient with myself, even when others weren’t with me.

I wrote this post because I owe to myself. This isn’t the first time that I’ve wanted to quit and it won’t be the last. I owe it to myself to acknowledge my discontent and to also acknowledge what helped to gently move me back to solid ground. I owe it to myself to write about how I sustain myself during this marathon when it feels like I’m running on fumes. Everybody has these moments, but what matters is how you pick yourself back up and keep running the race.