Category Archives: The Journey

The Wasteland: Dating in Grad School

I’ve been single for so long that none of my current friends have known me with a partner.

My dating life for the past seven years has been a series of starts and stops, misunderstandings and miscommunications, and unrequited loves galore. It’s particularly bad because I spend months, or even years at a time completely floored by mood episodes that leave me unable to care for myself, forget dating. When I can afford to think about dating, I’m usually hung up on some guy that either strung me along or didn’t want me, causing me to believe in the falsehood that I was unworthy of their love. If I fall, when I fall, I fall hard and am essentially inconsolable until I completely move on, which, to the chagrin of my inner circle, could be years. (I honestly still cringe at the number of hours I spent crying over the dude I was in love with the last half of college. Whew, chillay.)

In undergrad, everything was so ephemeral and there was no pressure. Not to mention, I was at UVA on a mission to get that degree and nothing else mattered. My blinders were on and I didn’t stray from the path. When I emerged four years later, with a degree in hand, I barely had any relationships to show for it, friends or otherwise. But now? Now I’m putting the pieces in place to build the life I’ve always wanted. Being a grad student is the start of my career, not just preparation. Everything in my academic career is falling into place: I’ve developed a brand that’s based in large part on transparency and public facing work, I have a publication in the works, I’m getting ready to pass my comprehensive exams and propose the course of my dreams to teach next year. I have a platform and my words are making their way out into the world. My social life, however, is an actual wasteland.

There are plenty of things that account for that. 1) Williamsburg, VA is not where you go when you’re in your mid-twenties and you’re figuring out your life. It’s where you go when you want a nice place to retire, and yes, I figured that out after I accepted my place here. So there’s a scarcity of young people; specifically young Black people that aren’t undergraduates, so 2) my pool is limited. Then, even if there were young Black people to meet in my area, 3) I don’t go out. I spend most of my time holed up in my apartment working, and when I’m not there, I’m holed up at my parents’ doing work. So, it’s partially my fault, but also even if I wanted to go out, there’s nothing to do, which is related to point 1.

Then, once we get past those factors, there are the more troubling concerns that no one really wants to talk about. A plus-sized, solidly brown-skinned girl is rarely anyone’s top choice. Drop my degrees, ambition, height and willingness to stand up for myself into the mix and you’ve got an “intimidating” woman, who should be avoided at all costs. (I can already anticipate the dudes in my mentions once I post this article trying to refute these claims, but you try being single for seven years and then we’ll talk.)

The worst part is, once you get past all the superficial reasons why I’m single, you get to the core–is it me? That guy from undergrad seemed to have a cutting word about me for almost every letter of the alphabet. Some days, I was “abrasive,” others I was “bossy” and “demanding.” Did those words actually describe me? Maybe. But at my core, underneath the sarcasm and hard exterior, few people could see me for who I am: an over-emotional, empathetic, but loveable piece of work.

While working in a profession that makes me doubt myself daily, my lack of social life really makes me doubt my worthiness. After spending all day worrying if I’ll pass comps, if I’ll ever get published, if I’m good enough to teach, I get to spend all night wondering why I haven’t been good enough for anyone in nearly seven years. My engaged friend soothes, my church girl prays, my other single friend commiserates but at the end of the day, I’m still me, alone and stuck in this spot for as long as the dissertation dictates, with no prospects and no hope.

Well, not quite. “The hopeless romantic in me won’t let the hope die,” as my friend Alexis would say. I hope I can have my career and a family one day. The good news? I’m still young and there’s plenty of time for things to change, but for now I guess I’m just chilling in the Wasteland, waiting for Future Husbae to appear.

I can’t wait to meet him.

Daydreaming: An Ode to Life Post-Comps

236.

That’s how many monographs, novels, poems, articles and essays I’ve read since starting this process.

I have less than 50 to finish reading.

The fact of the matter, though, is that I’m tired. My brain hurts, I’ve crammed more information into my poor little mind than I ever thought possible, and everything I read at this point seeps out quickly and quietly, like water out of cupped hands. I’ll probably read a few more things, but I’ve mostly switched to making notecards, reading book reviews and going over my notes on a daily basis. At some point soon, I’ll start trying to answer some practice questions.

But most importantly, I’ll rest.

With exams less than a month away, I’ve been daydreaming about what comes after. Sure, I’ll revel in being ABD for a day or two, and I’ll probably sleep for a week straight, but after that? What will I do to celebrate?

I’ve been considering doing a writing retreat. As a scholar, I write all the time: I write (potential) articles and book chapters, abstracts and conferences papers– not to mention these blog posts. I even write a mean e-mail. Still, I miss really writing. I miss doing Nanowrimo every November, my writing challenges with Micah, and developing essays that I’m too shy and nervous to do anything with. I haven’t worked seriously on a novel since 2017 and it’s time. I feel it. As a grad student, funds are tight, but who knows, maybe I could go visit my uncles in Florida for a few days and get some writing done in the southern sunshine.

I have also been putting in some time planning for the 2019-2020 academic year. I have my heart set on being a teaching fellow but we’ll see what happens. I have a draft syllabus for a class that’s beyond my wildest expectations and I can’t wait to share these texts and ideas with a group of students who are willing to learn and work. I’ll be sure to clue you all in as soon as I know if I’m teaching it.

My summer will be full but relaxing. I have some graduations to attend, I’m planning a trip to the University of Victoria for the Digital Humanities Summer Institute (DHSI) in June, followed by more rest and a potential for working on my dissertation prospectus so that I can propose it when I return in the fall, and then I’ll wrap things up by serving as the Academic Director of the W&M/Keio Cross-Cultural Collaboration August 5th through 20th.

I’m tired, but excited. Only good things ahead.

Comps Unplugged: Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist

I pride myself a little too much on my plucky, “can-do” attitude. The more impossible the task, the more I seek to master it. I mean, you’re talking to the girl whose senior quote was: “It’s fun to do the impossible.” (Walt Disney) I’ve never exactly fancied myself Wonder Woman, but my expectations of myself are incredibly high.

So when comps prep season finally rolled around, I was overwhelmed by the impossibility of the reading but determined to kick its butt anyway. I planned, I organized, I scheduled. I made spreadsheets, lists, and even planned how many times a month I’d go to the library for books. And I counted– oh my, I counted. I count down the number of days I have until exams (currently 36), I count the number of texts I have left to read (for each list and then total), I count how many books I have to read a day in order to finish everything.

All of the neuroticism was eventually going to reach a boiling point.

I sat down in the living room with my mother, who (God bless her) has patiently listened to my daily comps stats reports, my summaries of novels that she’s never going to read and my many attempts at talking myself through this thing. I told her that I was probably not going to finish the last 18 or so books, despite my meticulous scheduling. I decided that giving myself at least a week to review (and rest and recover) at the end was more important than reading up until the day of the exam. I said it as if someone had died. My mom stared at me.

“So you read over 200, almost 300, books and you’re telling me you’re going to let those last eighteen to cause you to have a breakdown? Don’t break down at the end and let all your hard work go away.”

She was right. She’s never been so right. I am the Queen of Anxiety-Induced Melt Downs, and the fact is I’ve worked entirely too hard to let that be the case this time around.

As the days wound down, I began to suspect that these last days leading up to my exams would be the hardest, so now I think it’s time to adjust my plan of attack:

  • I am going to read about a book a day for the next month.
  • I am going to devote more time to doing things that will help me feel more prepared, like meeting with my committee, trying to develop questions, making outline answers to those questions.
  • I am going to stop working myself so hard. The anxiety attacks and the shoulder pain isn’t worth it.
  • I am going to prioritize my health in this last month. I can’t take the exam if I burn out at the last minute.

The truth is this is hard, and it’s even harder when you’re a person that doesn’t have a great work life balance. I don’t know when to stop. It doesn’t help when you’re a perfectionist– I don’t know when to let go. However, it is time for me to ease up. I can’t continue at this pace. The chronic tension (and pain) in my shoulders and back is telling my otherwise. I love myself too much to let a test break any part of me.