Apparently, the guy who writes xkcd has had similar experiences – here’s his variant: ( ):

Can I just say again how much I love xkcd?

Oh, and I guess this puts me into R-rated blog territory, even if it’s harder to detect. Bad me

This post is not, primarily, about that, though I’ll write about it briefly, and maybe more than once. In general, I haven’t been writing enough lately, and when I don’t write, I find it hard to keep my life straight. The one thing I’ve been doing a lot of lately is trying to keep my life straight.

So here’s the state of things, with some background:

When we lived in Los Angeles, it is no secret that I was relatively miserable with life there. Neither of us wanted to move to Los Angeles – I’d told more than one person that it’s the one place I’d never live – but it was necessary. One of us was working on a dissertation all the time in a cramped poorly-built one-bedroom apartment, and the other was stuck in an endless cycle of sleep 6 hours, spend 3-4 hours on trains and buses, and work 8-12 hours for The Man ™, with little time for anything else, including the cramped one-bedroom apartment and the beloved dissertation writer sequestered within. It is a sad state of affairs when the guy working on the dissertation in the drab, dark apartment under tremendous time pressure is the happier one. But it was to be expected from the circumstances, and it was ok because we knew it was temporary.

And now, now we’re in Denver. The dissertation-writer is now a professor, doing what he loves, and the former drudge for The Man ™ is drudge no longer, having the time and space to figure out what it is she wants. We’re in a good place, both literally and figuratively. And now it’s time for me to figure things out.

When I left my job with The Man ™, I returned to grad school after a year off. All of the coursework was done, and all that was left was research, so I figured it was worth a go. I won’t say I didn’t do this with some reservations, because I did, but having finally gotten my crap together after a decade in which my life hit more highs and lows than a bipolar heroin addict (no offense to bipolar heroin addicts), I thought I’d go back and try to finish things on my own terms, under my own expectations, and without 10 tons of other people’s problems on my shoulders while I did it. My husband, as always, was remarkably supportive. So was my absolutely awesome advisor.

And so I went back. I flew back and forth to the armpit of America all semester (I don’t care about those of you who’ve voted for New Jersey or West Memphis, Arkansas as The Armpit ™ – as far as I’m concerned, Lafayette, Indiana really does take the cake, and you’ll never convince me otherwise), and I frantically packed about 6 months worth of background reading and analysis into less than a semester. I wrote a prelim document which, while it was not perfect, was a significant chunk of work which would have pushed things forward (my advisor and I were both happy with it).

All in all, it went about as well as it could have gone. I can’t say that I didn’t get excited about the research or about making progress, because I did. Sometimes.

Of course, as always in life, other things were going on too. And those things are not the reason for what I’ve decided to do, although I’d be foolish to deny they may have had an impact.

But, you see, my husband and I had been having a conversation all semester about whether or not I really want this PhD.

I’m going to say something here that will perhaps offend some people that love and respect me, but it needs to be said. In the past 5 years – particularly since I left the Purdue CS department so unhappy (most grad students I know, it should be said, leave the Purdue CS department unhappy, and many very smart ones without the degrees they came for, but that’s a story for another day…) – the number of people that I love, respect and care about who’ve said something to me to the effect of “You’re so smart – you really should finish this PhD”, or “You really need a PhD” (for my own ego reasons, or because no one wants to see another woman give up her career for her husband’s – one favorite professor of mine was worried about me for feminist reasons – or because the speaker simply thought I’d make a good professor) , or “You’re so close to done – how can you stop now?” has been staggering.

None of these people are entirely wrong, with the exception of the person who was worried that I was giving up my career for my husband. My ego took a pretty good bitchslapping in the Purdue CS department, and being married to a very intense academic professional does mean needing to hold one’s own, ego-wise (this isn’t a commentary on my husband, by the way – my father is a professor, and from a lifetime of samples, I’d say the need to have an intellectual backbone just goes with the territory of being with smart people). So, sure, ego is a concern. And once upon a time, when I was very young and naïve, I undersold myself so that I wouldn’t intimidate people, spending a good bit of time hiding the fact that I was smart until it got me into a relationship with a lunatic that I almost failed to make it out of. That wasn’t good. So no, I’m not an idiot, and yes, I could get a PhD. And it is certainly inarguable that I have put a great deal of time and effort into getting through this many academic hoops. There are only a couple of hoops left. Those hoops, it can be said, are very big and would take a lot of my time. And the payoff at the end – emotionally, intellectually and financially – really wouldn’t put me ahead of where I am now. As for the possibility of “giving up my career for my husband”, in a strange sense, the move to linguistics itself was a career decision based upon my then-boyfriend-now-husband long ago. That decision was to stay at Purdue but transfer to a different discipline rather than transferring to a less dysfunctional CS department at another university while he finished up. Whether or not that was the “right” thing to do, from a feminist point of view, is irrelevant – it was my choice to make, and I’m happy I gave the relationship a chance to be what it is, regardless of professional outcome.

In any event, to those I love and care about who are in academia reading this, let me just make something clear: just because I am not choosing to become a high priest of the religion doesn’t mean I don’t worship at the temple or respect its rites. The long and short of it is this: it just isn’t what I want to do. And after I’d finished the prelim – after the only thing this was about was me and what I wanted, because my ego was satisfied that I could do this and that I’d done very well so far – I could finally step back and decide that without anyone else’s expectations or desires in the way. That perspective was worth all of the flying back and forth and reading and crunching ideas and wracking my brains to try to make a cohesive whole out of a bunch of disparate research.

Of course, there is this “something else” that was going on at the time too. Right around the time I defended my prelim, I was about 6 weeks pregnant. This was our first pregnancy – we were guardedly excited about it, but hadn’t told anyone. Looking at having a baby in the not-too-distant future and at where I really want my life to go certainly was an impetus for trying to get some real perspective, but it wasn’t the reason for my decision – in fact, being a grad student and taking care of a kid is a lot more compatible than working 9-to-5 and doing the same. But it played its part in getting me thinking. It emphasized what I already knew – that I cared a lot more about getting into a position where I could teach and raise a family than I did about being called Dr. Grothoff. Mainly, I care about being happy. A piece of paper, a “significant contribution to the field” and a ticket to possibly get in line in the tenure rat-race just aren’t going to do that for me personally right now.

And so I made a decision and gave myself a few weeks to think about it to make sure. I’d leave the linguistics program for good, work on my German and refresh my math skills, and go back to school for a teaching certification in a year or so. That decided, I set off to get through Christmas and not do a whole lot of thinking (or anything else). We planned to tell my parents about the pregnancy at Christmas, and I planned not to worry for a while.

Of course, I’m finding that people never talk about these things unless they go well. And this did not, unfortunately, go well. A couple of weeks later at the ultrasound – hours after my last post – we saw that the embryo had stopped developing right around the prelim, and that I would soon miscarry. The next day I went in to the hospital to complete the miscarriage (there was absolutely no chance that it would continue – there was really nothing there), and it wasn’t pleasant. But it happened, and we’re all right. It was a pretty routine occurrence, and as much as it might seem like I should be devastated right now, I’m really not. Disappointed, certainly, but since most first-trimester miscarriages are due to one-time genetic defects, I’d really rather it have happened early on. Mostly, it was just uncomfortable and weird. Thursday, you’re pregnant. Friday, you’re not. And there wasn’t a damned thing to be done about it.

Now, you may be wondering why I’d mention this on a blog to begin with if I’m OK and don’t want pity (which I really, really don’t). Well, first of all, it’s part of the story, and it’s my story to tell. One thing I’ve discovered in the last few years is that people may not want you to tell your own story because it makes them uncomfortable, but it’s your story to tell, as long as you don’t shove it down anyone’s throat. But I’m also discovering that nearly every woman I’ve talked to about this – let’s just guess 95% – has been through one or two early miscarriages, and no one talks about it until they run into someone else that has. Yes, its traumatic, but geez… it’s much worse if you think it really only happens to people who are sick or ill or somehow defective, and clinical numbers from the doctor’s office don’t really fix that perception. The thing that made me feel the most normal was having someone tell me, “yeah, that happened to me too.” Because even when you’re emotionally ok with it, it’s about 2 weeks of Teh Suck physically afterward, and so you really do need someone to tell you, “Yeah, that happens.”

So anyway, that was more than I wanted to say about it, but that happened too.

So it’s been one of those months. Up and down and back and forth. And now, now I’m studying for a math exam required by the state to teach, and looking at taking the GRE again, since they won’t take my 7-year-old scores (rip-off!).

And so with all of that, here’s the executive summary: I’ve finally decided to do what I want to do, regardless of what anyone else thinks, even the people I respect most. And for the next year or so, I’m going to work on my own projects and being with my family and doing what makes me happy.

And that, my friends, is just about as good as it gets in life, even if it takes 10 pages to give the setup for it.

I went back to Purdue around Thanksgiving and did my prelim – my committee graciously passed me, though it appears I have a long way to go with some things. That and some other life-events have got me thinking about the future, and the events of the next few weeks are probably going to change life in a big way. Expect some draft posts to go live around Christmas – at the moment, I’m keeping plans under wraps.

The first tends to make people laugh – they like it a lot.

The second people tend to ignore, mainly because it’s fairly small and inconspicuous. Indiana, however, is the only place I’ve had people growl at it. Two asshole businessmen were sitting across from me that morning 4 weeks ago, badmouthing one of their female colleagues. I wasn’t really paying attention, and certainly not obviously so, but all of a sudden, they looked at me significantly and lowered their voices, continuing their bashing sotto voce. A few minutes later, I saw the older one elbow the younger one, and looked up when they both stared at my laptop as one pointed toward the bottom part of the cover (where said ACLU sticker is located). One of them sneered, and the other shook his head with an expression just short of spitting. I hadn’t slept all night, so I didn’t have any smart remarks handy, but the facial expressions when I looked at them just screamed “stupid, ignorant bitch.”

Which leads me to wonder, yet again… since when are civil liberties disgusting? Since when are they traitorous? Since when are they, as a cause, worth sneering at strangers in airports over?

So now I’m back in the Indy airport, sitting in a hallway where there are outlets and lots of deplaning passengers. And I’ve gotten more than my share of slightly annoyed faces when people look down at my computer.

I wouldn’t have the sticker on there if I weren’t making a statement – but it amazes me what a different planet this place is. Then again, Indiana is the birthplace of the KKK. I shouldn’t be surprised.

Hate this place.

When you’re working remotely, sometimes it’s really hard to be sure how you’re progressing; after a nice long talk, though, I feel really good about where things are going. She’s also just a generally enjoyable person, so I always look forward to talking with her – but it was a good talk about research and the kind of stuff I’m encountering, and I feel much less like I’m spinning my wheels than I did at the end of summer.

Purdue may not be my favorite place to visit, but I do feel intellectually recharged Which is good, because the food and the scenery here suck. (Well, ok, so in about two weeks, the trees here will be beautiful, but otherwise… Teh Suck. And yes, I know, half-decent food can be found in the greater “metropolitan” (*cough*) area, but not near campus (Khana Khazana and Blue Nile excepted)… I have no problem understanding why I gained so much weight while here anymore. The food options are basically pretty bad. Bar food, bar food, bar food, fast food. Not so appealing.)

Regardless, it’s sort of odd to return here as a remote student. Last year, driving toward Chicago on my way back to Los Angeles, I was having a little celebration with myself, saying “this is the last time I’ll be in Lafayette, if I have anything to say about it!” I clearly lied – I definitely had something to say about it, and I chose to come back with a surprising degree of ease. As I said, not everything was bad here, and I do really like the department I’m associated with. Having a supportive environment and advisor is worth its weight in gold if you can get it – but it still feels weird every time I’m here, whatever the reason.

So anyhow… I’m here. In the 24-hour study room of the undergraduate library. I don’t know why, but it’s easier to work here than alone in my hotel room. Go figure.

I’m still cracking away at the stuff I wanted to finish last week – it’s a lot more work than I thought it would be, but it’s coming together in a preliminary state that I like. One of the reasons I’m discovering it’s frustrating, though, is that it’s not really in a state where I can write much up about it. Makes a Hell of a spreadsheet, though The real work at the moment, to be honest, is getting my head around some of the things I want to say about the problem, and trying to hit my own theories over the head with various things to see how they hold up. Or trying to figure out what size hammer I need to hit them with.

However, I’m getting pretty loopy due to the fact that I didn’t really get sleep last night – had to be out the door at 3 am Mountain Time today to return the Rental Car Formerly Known As a Big Banana On Wheels ™ to the airport (we occasionally rent a car the day before one of us flies to ensure timely arrival at the airport and, as a bonus, run a crapload of errands), and I hadn’t slept much the night before either, so except for a couple of unfortunate naps on the plane and a short nap in the hotel room, my brain is pretty much tapped out. I’ll have to sleep soon.

Ah well… back to work for a bit. Just needed a breather.

(Note that it is now super-late Wednesday – er, Thursday now, I guess, so this is now officially frustrating. Time to put on the coffee!! This was much easier at 19 than in my mid-30s, you know…)

I’ll be back at Purdue for a couple of days in two weeks, and discussions there should help pull things together a little more sanely, but right now, the process feels a little bit like the way my husband cooks – me, I usually use a cookbook when cooking something new. Christian will just pull stuff out and start dumping it into the pot until it’s right. (And, I might add, it’s usually delicious!)

I need to learn to let go and do more of the latter…

This picture looks better when viewed at a larger size than this, but when I was at Purdue last week, I met with two of my former students from the American Culture class I taught at the Purdue Village ESOL School (along with the fabulous director, Annette!) for a mini-reunion. From left to right: Keiko, Annette, me, and Xiaowei.

I had a really good time with them, and Keiko, Xiaowei and I went to lunch afterwards. All of my students in the class were really interested in understanding the culture in which they found themselves immersed, and I think it takes a really special kind of person to remain open and challenged by the things around oneself rather than retreating into one’s own cultural norms. Both Keiko and Xiaowei (along with the rest of the students who took the class) are those kind of people, and I think I may have learned more from them than they learned from me. In any event, it was just wonderful to see Keiko and Xiaowei again – they’re both people I consider friends, and I’m really proud of them.