Programs and education...

Some updates (May, 2016): Fear not, I am improving and my pluck is slowly returning. But, because I believe expressions of frustration have great value, I will leave the original post intact to reflect upon. . .

I have long considered a PhD. In fact, as I was searching for a graduate program prior to my Master's (a process that in and of itself was difficult), you may be aware that I considered the possibility of going directly into my PhD instead of doing a Master's. Ultimately, due to the combination of the funding situation and much thought and uncertainty, benefits and disadvantages either way, I decided to start with my Master's. I wonder often if this was the right choice, as I realized shortly into my Master's that I did feel well-prepared and ready to have been working at a PhD level. Nonetheless, I mostly feel good about the option of choosing my Master's, and that it has been useful. At the very least it has shown me beyond any doubt that I feel and likely am very prepared for my PhD. Though I do think, wistfully sometimes, how I would be half way through my PhD at this point had I chosen that route from the start here at OSU...... This summer, I thought a number of times about the caliber of my research, for example. Well, hopefully it was of a high caliber. Who knows. I have my doubts, of course, but the fact that I had designed most aspects of it, taught myself most of the plant physiology techniques, and managed things alone is certainly encouraging. Contemplating this in and of itself made me realize that, yes, I had likely been ready for my PhD already. But, my Master's degree has allowed me to sharpen myself, and has also allowed me to take some useful (and some not-so-useful) courses, and to work on my skills. That is all valuable. So it is.

In any case, my point is that a PhD has been a goal of mine for a long time, always just on the horizon. Something I've been chasing. In December, my applications were very precious to me even if they were few. I very deeply regret not being able to apply to a broader range of programs -- a regret you will perhaps understand more pointedly as you read -- but had so little time that I really do find it miraculous that I got anything organized at all. Regardless, I chose carefully. I knew there was much risk in building up my aspirations so, for each time I have done so in the past I have inevitably faced painful, stinging road-blocks or rejections. Yet, I have been told by many of my high-level of qualification, the depth of my experiences, and my value as a student. (All very kind words, to be sure, for which I am very honored! Yet, these accolades rarely seem to bear fruit, regrettably, and I am also very hesitant to believe them at this point). So I knew it would be a gamble of how much disappointment I could handle, against the chance of achieving my aspirations. Regardless, I felt some level of value in myself and my worth and my skill. I have worked very hard, and tried to do my best in all that I can. Likewise, I felt some level of confidence that I could be accepted, and I applied to an ambitious program with this confidence. A confidence, which, I truly do not feel is inaccurate or misplaced in myself. Even if I prefer humbleness, I will not deny at this point that I think I am very highly-qualified in my field, and I am proud of the hard work and diligence that has contributed to this. (One would think that confidence is a good thing. In reality, I have found, it mostly just makes things feel more disappointing. Again and again.)

Well, as I have learned, I might have guarded myself a little better against such predictable disappointment.

The result has been the same as the past two times I have applied to graduate schools. Great, disorienting disappointment on a number of fronts. First, I learned that I was not accepted to a program I been very enthusiastic about -- a dream program, really. Boohoo. So it is. I tried hard to get over it. After that, I learned that I was not selected for any significant funding at my two other options. The final strike came when I did not receive funding for a proposal I had placed my last, desperate hopes in. My last hope, my last resort. A proposal that would have fixed everything. Fixed all that disappointment and fear and anxiety, and funded a dream project. Ack. So it is. Get over it, I must tell myself.

In the grand scheme of life, obviously there are greater wounds than rejection from a program. Obviously, there are far worse hurts than not being selected for funding. I am well aware of that. I am also well aware, in the grand scheme of life, of my own good fortune: that I for the moment have a home to live in, that I am mostly healthy, that I have clean water to drink and clean air to breath. These things are very important, and I would never wish to diminish that. These are things for which I am very grateful. Even so, it is also important to understand what such a rejection means, for me, for someone of my socioeconomic standing. It means the barring of certain courses of my future. The very real ending of certain dreams and goals. Or, at the very least, an impossibly steep climb to ever reach them ere decrepitude takes me, (unless I win the lottery, ha). A climb I may not have energy left to make again. It means letting go of dearly held hopes, and facing reality. It means more immense anxiety and fear, and many financial uncertainties. It is a pretty huge let down.

This all sounds pessimistic, but it is also actuality. And it, generally, has no meaning. No purpose. No purpose in this continued disappointment. No purpose in continuing to throw myself against a wall that sets between myself and my hopes, a wall that will never budge before I am broken. I give everything I have, to try to achieve my goals and hopes. I have little left. At this point, I am level-headed enough to understand that. I do not believe, whatsoever, that "things happen for a reason." Things happen. That is all. It hurts. And you must recover from them, or react, or move on, or keep going, or re-strategize, especially if you come from limited means. But there is a price. For me, the literal monetary cost of applications is very high. Each one comes with certain sacrifices. So a rejection means something in that regard, for one: I have wagered on my future, and lost that wager. Not only the cost of applications, but also my undergraduate debt. I am deeply fortunate for my undergraduate experience at St. Olaf, absolutely, and would never deny that. At that time, it was not my first choice but I would never deny the many good (and sometimes great!) experiences I came away with. And while debt from undergraduate does cripple me, I made it through four years nonetheless, and not everyone gets that chance. Still, I wonder sometimes about what might have been, and wonder if the debt I carry like a weight was worth it. Will that wager on myself ever be won, ultimately? Or would it have been better spent in less selfish ways. These days, I begin to think it was a foolish gamble.

Because it is true, I took on that debt absolutely as a wager upon my future, that at some point things would work. Beyond the "growing" experience and "learning experience", all well and good, I very much needed that investment in myself to help me down the line. Failure is not an option. Good grades and hard work are my only tools. A barred opportunity (such as graduate plans not quite working out) for someone like myself with limited resources and with student debt, also means that same debt may kick in if I must wait, and my debt is always chasing me. If I slow down, if I stumble, it could very well catch me and drown me. I only have so many chances. This means that rejections come with an added layer of fear and anxiety, not just disappointment or hurt feelings. I think about it constantly. If I stumble too many times, even if it is beyond my control, I may fall altogether. If I were "well-off", I might still feel the sting and bitterness of disappointment and discouragement, but I would not need to fear for the coming year if nothing works out. There may be other chances for me, then, or other directions I might go temporarily to boost myself, to gain more experience. But, like many others, there is always a risk that I will, literally, not be able to afford re-strategizing. (Case in point, when I came out here to Oregon, it was with an empty bank account. I would not have been able to afford a deposit on an apartment except for the sacrifices of an aunt and help from her close friend who stepped in.). That risk, of not being able to afford to re-strategize, causes me further fear because so far, as I've noted, education and hard work and ambitiousness have been my only means to pull myself up. At the same time, I strive to make a difference though what I do. If those doors close, what am I left with? And what do I do with all those years of hard work?

So, to live most of your young life believing genuinely and earnestly that if you work hard enough, you can achieve your dreams, you can move upwards, you can improve your situation and that of your family, you can achieve the best....then to repeatedly be met by the realization that, frankly, this is not so, that it will always be an anxious, frightening struggle without some well-timed stroke of luck....that is a pretty crushing realization to face again and again. It gets to a point that one can no longer drag oneself back on their feet to try again. I personally have spent the last nine years in higher education, working myself to the bone and holding myself to the highest standards. Chasing a future that I, foolishly, thought I may be able to grasp. Yet it vanishes before my hand. Prior to that, I spent my younger years working equally hard (an additional 7 years, I would say, since I most consciously remember my ambitions beginning in early middle school). I faced some pretty big disappointments at every level. Again, get over it, I try to persuade myself. Some folks have spent longer, and faced far worse, I do not doubt. I tell myself to be grateful. At some point, you hope - you are desperate -- for something to work smoothly. For something to finally work at all, without fear and frustration and desperation. For you to finally achieve your dreams, and for that hard work to help you.

     I sometimes wonder if I have had my chance, and perhaps it will not come again. When I received the Fulbright in 2012, it was among the greatest achievements I have ever experienced. Prior to that, I had never left the United States and had little hope of ever affording to do so, at least for many years to come. That is one moment in my life where I have felt such joy. Such joy that yes, somehow, I can make this work! I will never forget that. Someone, somewhere, recognized that I might maybe have potential -- not just as a gullible dollar sign, as I sometimes suspect I was for my alma mater -- but as someone to fund. They opened a door for me. My thankfulness for that opportunity will never diminish. (In fact, despite my current feelings of deep sadness and frustration, regardless of whether I do anything else in my life, I will always cherish that experience dearly) I had high hopes that year was the beginning of many good things to come. That I had made it. In fact, it taught me precisely how valuable such experiences are. Precisely how many doors a well-known program or institution can open, precisely what I had missed out on many times before, and how such achievements very concretely act as keys. Case in point: although I had tried after high school to be accepted into a prestigious program, I had been easily rejected at that time. It does not seem to be a coincidence to me that the year I received a Fulbright and applied to a graduate program, I was accepted, somehow, to Yale. I strongly suspect that was the Fulbright, you see. Amazing! I was so overjoyed. I was baffled. I was brought to tears. I had made it! I had done it! It was very symbolic to me. I can still remember that exhilaration. At last, proof that through hard work I really could go far. Ah, I can still remember how proud I felt, when my family told my grandfather, for example. If I ever make it to my PhD, moreover, I would be the first Doctorate, on either side of my family. Well, that exhilaration was quashed very soon thereafter when I learned that I had received little in the way of funding. My heart plummeted. I could never afford that price-tag without funding. Especially not with previous debt and student loans already. It was economically beyond my grasp and beyond my conscience to devote such huge amounts of money towards my own selfish pursuit of education. For goodness sake, if I ever had the amount of money needed for that program, I would do well to buy a forest myself and donate it (I study forests, you see)! Or to support others! Still, I was crushed. So swiftly, things were barred. But gods, I knew what aid, what help, how far such opportunities might boost an individual, and I was very keenly aware of what opportunities were closed to me again. I don't know if it was ever explained to my grandfather. . . I probably still harbor some bitterness, and some shame, even if shame is not really called for, regarding that time and that decision. It is hard not to feel shame, though. I suppose I never really recovered, at a personal level, from that. But so it is!

Well, I am of a persistent sort, so I tried to find some way to salvage the time. I did have some luck and kind support from professors, and found a research opportunity, and doubled down to work as hard as ever. Yes, I said, there are still folks who have some faith in you and if I just keep at it....! But I was pretty worn, and pretty wary, and never quite so hopeful. Not just to have given up a prestigious school (again, there are worse things in life), but also because nearly any place I seemed to apply, there did not seem to be funding. Because I was rejected at almost every turn, or so it felt. And I felt lost, too. Alone. My immediate family could not guide me towards graduate school. They rarely had direct advice to offer, although they tried and have listened to me, and I still feel that they are cautious to offer guidance on the matter. I have generally felt on my own with these decisions and with planning for the future.

Still, I tried again the following year and applied to a couple of  programs in my field that seemed ideal to me. Programs that would have, very likely, been great fits for me. That would have really helped to pull me up, and open doors to areas which I can, presently, only catch glimpses of through a distant window. Who knows. As others have probably experienced as well, I was rejected from all of those programs, and couldn't find funding at my safer option once again. Yet, I was able to get funding at Oregon State. That funding was what persuaded me to take a chance, and accept. Ultimately, that decision to come to Oregon State has absolutely introduced me to incredible ecosystems, and to many wonderful people, and I am very grateful for the opportunity. I do not really regret coming to Oregon State, and have valued my time here (and recognize that there are many who would very much like to be here). I have gotten to take many excellent courses, and be in a community deeply involved in forest sciences, to live in the beautiful Pacific Northwest (when I got to snatch a glimpse of it). But it did come at a personal cost to me and to my psyche and a heck of a lot of work. It came with a major catch: the project that was tied to my funding, was one which caused me to forfeit some of my ideals, initially, since it deals closely with industry. Luckily, the collaborators/scientists with this particular timber industry and funding turned out to share values similar to my own in regards to environmental protection, as it were, and this brought me comfort. Moreover, those I have worked with in this collaboration have also been so very supportive of me and all around great people, and that was a very wonderful surprise. I have been very grateful to work with them. I have learned a lot.

Even so, I often questioned myself, even as I recognized my desperation. Initially, I often cried. More than that, the project limited my options immediately to the greenhouse and the lab, to manipulating potted seedlings, and meant that I would not see the forests, would have to compromise on most of the aspects which had ever originally drawn me to forest sciences and ecology. Through diligence and stubbornness, and through some measure of sympathy from my advisor and much support from the funding company, I was able to shape my research into something meaningful to me in its objective, something I feel is important. I was able to frame my work from the perspective of climate change. That is very fortunate, and things could have been much worse. Still, I will not deny how unhappy I was at many points throughout the past year and a half, and how much effort it took to enthuse myself, nor how unpleasant some of my experiences have been over the past year and a half. How trapped I felt at many points, how jealous I felt of my classmates who were out roaming the forests doing work I might love, while I was left behind and scarcely felt the sun on my skin for many months. I had known it would not necessarily be ideal from the start, when I accepted to come here. But I could not have afforded to be choosy at that point. I sold myself out, accepted funding which I desperately needed, and made the best of it. And it has been better than I anticipated, but still very challenging and a test of my own fortitude and patience. I thought I had a plan, though. I thought I had a decent compromise with myself.

     You see, I told myself all throughout my Master's and at the start: work hard, stay persistent, do your best. If you work hard, you will have more options for the future, for your PhD. Then maybe you can find a situation that makes you genuinely happy! Where you are doing what you are most passionate about! Where you are supported financially without such restrictions, where you might merit further fellowships or scholarship, so that you need not fear so and face such uncertainty, and worry to buy groceries. Work that makes you excited and proud and fulfilled, and is not just a temporary patch. Then you will not have to make a decision out of desperation, you will not need to give up your happiness or freedom. Two years can go fast enough anyways, I told myself, so make the most of it and work hard. You can wait a bit longer, I told myself. Things will get better! Just keep working at it! That's what I told myself. That my Master's, even though it was not necessarily ideal, could function as a step towards better things, as a boost, as a tool, even if it was not always what I wanted. Things could be much worse and I should be grateful! Even if the grind sometimes made me miserable.

     After all that work, I am, once again, in the exact same discouraging, disappointing situation as in years past. Three times I have built myself up and applied to graduate schools. Now, for the third time, I face again a situation of watching my dream opportunities close because of rejection, probably with some finality this time, or because I just can't take the fear and risk and anxiety of uncertain funding and I am too beaten down and tired to be positive. Watching my dream opportunities dangled before me yet knowing that I cannot afford them or knowing that it will once again be a rough, uphill climb when I had dearly, dearly wished for some respite. I no longer have illusions that my hard work will yield greater opportunity. It will not, unless the winds of favor deign to blow right. And I am left with pieces of situations, pieces of my interests, and pieces of my goals, which I am now grappling feebly to try to fit together. It is with the knowledge that all my work, and self-encouragement, my hope that if I applied myself and gave it my all, none of that aided my situation. That my work has placed me no better down the road than I was when I graduated, in terms of opportunity or security. Truthfully, I am little better off than I was the last time, or the time before that in terms of options. Save I am now older, and more worn. That is hugely defeating. That is enough to crush me firmly. It is also not quite so easy to resolve: a Master's I could muscle through, a Master's is shorter, it does not need to be ideal, and I did not necessarily need to feel happy and secure. A PhD is another story. A PhD is a long-term commitment. A PhD should be something you love. A PhD is something that, at least in my opinion, you should begin with energy and drive and hopefully pride in yourself and your work.

      So, these days, I wonder a lot at what to think of rejection at the same time that I recognize I am also lucky to be grappling with this as an issue, as opposed to something worse. (Actually, more than rejection, I wonder at lack of funding. Which, to me, hurts almost more) Again, I know that there are many worse things I could be facing. I also recognize that I am hardly alone in these situations. Many people are met with recurring disappointment. I dearly hope my frustrations do not come off as ungrateful or whining. Hopefully, maybe, others grappling with similar frustrations may find some shared thoughts.

In all of this, I wonder also as I am sure many others have wondered of themselves, if, perhaps I was not of a high enough caliber. If I will ever be of high enough caliber. If so, if I am simply not good enough, I graciously and abashedly accept this. But frankly, I have some doubt of this. I feel I am a pretty good catch, as far as students go and unless I am deluding myself wholly. But if I am lacking or majorly flawed, I honestly prefer that, and hope this is the case. I can work to improve if I am lacking, whereas if I am indeed qualified enough, then the hurt is without means to amend it. Just rotten luck. Or maybe I'm nothing special at all, and that is very well possible, and I should just accept it. Yet, I admit I am a bit at a loss for what more I can do to make myself more attractive as a candidate, and maybe many others can relate to that feeling of hopelessness and confusion. Still, I feel that I show again and again that my persistence will overcome that, if given the chance. And I would also point out that, when it comes to things like GRE scores, which are often a major determinant for institutions, it is a deep frustration that such a key criterion costs nearly $160 to take, and at least $25 per institution to send out the scores after that. That makes it pretty difficult to retake. My own scores are nothing stellar, but they are decent. If I wished to improve them (if I even have the intelligence to do so), it would also come at a cost. Just like everything, when it comes to education. When universities place emphasis on expensive tests, though, I wonder if they are aware of the bias of it, the advantage towards those who can afford it. But I complain. I feel fortunate, that I could afford to take it once at all.

     Anyways, if this were my first experience with disappointment, perhaps, it would not be so deeply wearying. Like throwing myself at a wall. I now feel pretty battered. I feel pretty convinced that I am not going to make it through to the other side, to wherever I thought I wanted to go. I have been met by many slammed doors, and they are not always possible to circumvent. New doors do not simply open. They take huge amounts of diligence and hard work to find, or to build or to unlock (and only sometimes are they stumbled upon). Those first times, I still had the energy to bounce back. That's what you do! It still stung, of course, and the disappointment still stuck with me, but it was manageable, and through the encouragement of those around me and my own will, I gradually got back up. With this newest disappointment, though, I am left to wonder if my best matters, since it never seems to be enough. I begin to wonder if I might save myself the exhaustion of such hard work, and I might as well embrace doing "alright". The results would literally be the same. I have always wanted to be the best I can be. But maybe, even if I do my best, I am fated to be "alright" no matter what, since I will never be able to achieve beyond that. Then I laugh, because to be "alright" and to pursue education is only really an option for the wealthy, frankly.

     I know that it is primarily the scorn and exhaustion of these disappointments that causes some of my current pessimism. So, please, you must forgive me my gloom. I am well-skilled at seeking ways to center myself, to rid myself of poisonous jadedness, to try again. This time, it is hard to do so, and I find that these poisons of the past have not been extracted. They burgeon anew, having harbored themselves deep down all along in my bitterness. I find that I do not care to rid myself of them, maybe. I should prefer to bite, maybe -- but it is not in me to do so. I wonder if I have reached my limit. Even as I say so, I know it is hopefully not true, and feel foolish to let such trivial things drag me down when there are much larger issues in the world. And, although I have ever less will and drive from a place of aspiration and joy and enthusiasm, I have a great deal of resentment and anger that serves as powerful temporary fuel. Such fuel burns within me, whispers to me to do better than any such program. To exceed them in every way. At some point, though, the opportunities to do so are gone and the time and energy necessary to work around these roadblocks and shut doors exceeds good sense and exceeds even my patience. I wonder why it must be necessary to be slapped down so often, and why I should accept that it will work out. Why I should accept that any of it occurred for a reason, and why on earth should I anticipate anything different. It is said, after all, that true insanity is to perform the same actions, expecting different results. In that case, my track record of applying to programs would indicate I have a penchant for the insane. I grow tired of it. When I remember that damn people like George W. Bush went to places like Yale and Harvard, that folks like that are given such opportunity with a fraction of the tears and work of others... well, that is pretty disappointing. (And when I remember that I have better odds at grasping success than many due to my own privilege as a white person in the United States, I can only wonder at the frustration and discouragement and barriers those from other backgrounds face, and feel all the more despondent and angry about education in this country.)

I feel, indeed, much akin to Boxer the draft horse in Animal Farm: "Sometimes on the slope leading to the top of the quarry, when he braced his muscles against the weight of some vast boulder, it seemed that nothing kept him on his feet except the will to continue. At such times his lips were seen to form the words, `I will work harder'; he had no voice left. "

And I wonder if my fate, in the end, shall be as his, to at last collapse from such a motto. Certainly, I share his naive hopefulness.

      But, we shall see. Maybe I have not fully relinquished my penchant for insanity -- my penchant for hopefulness. I do still have some tiny, tiny, infinitesimal foolish spark of ambition, maybe, flickering someplace deep down and protected though very, very weak and easily extinguishable at this stage. It will take time for it to rekindle to anything resembling its erstwhile strength, and it may never be the same as before, may not have the same goals or hopes, but hopes all the same. Less grand, maybe. It is mixed strongly with caution, and some dread, and some listlessness, and recognition of how much harder the road is when you must forge it yourself, when you must seek for a way to clamor through the window instead of hoping to enter through the door. Anyways, even as I write, I must get over it. It is silly to care so, to complain so. It is ungrateful, and insensitive, perhaps. I fully acknowledge that my own present struggles, ultimately, are trivial in the face of larger issues. Take a deep breath, and be grateful. That is what I tell myself. But it does still sting, it does still burn, and my fear and anxiety and shame are there all the same.