Fatigue has set in. Three days and three nights of manic level deconstruction of literature... pages upon pages of notes all awaiting to be pieced together into what will be my dissertation. I'm hopeful I am making progress. I'm not sure exactly what progress is anymore... a finished project at most, a few pages at least.
Nothing is enough these days, the guilt of not having a finished project is overwhelming. It is not enough that I have over 50 pages of notes or I've ran hundreds of statistical models, entered 1100 thirty page surveys worth of data, cleared the IRB hurdle and have an advisor that believes in the project. I've made progress, I have to give credit to myself for what I have accomplished.
When you are dissertating... the journey seems endless. I can say with some certainty that I know this road does end... and my eye is on the prize at the end of this long journey. All that taken in... what often feels like mini steps forward and even more frequently a few steps back... will come together.
I recently purchased a series of "Get 'er done" "How to..." books related to the dissertation. I've meditated, burned incense, cleaned, organized, shopped, walked in circles, spent hours upon endless hours preparing for classes that I am teaching... I've done just about everything to avoid what sits in the forefront of my life and my own standards of success... the dissertation.
The books have helped, sometimes you need a little direction and instruction. It's strange - ten years of college, hundreds of term papers, a 110 page Masters thesis... and I look at the dissertation feeling like I am essentially flying blind. I'm gaining some confidence in the fact that I am not flying blind, that after ten years of education in the field... I know something. After nearly five years of discussing, debating, pondering and truly living sociology and sociological social psychology -- I know something.
It is what I don't know that scares me. While I recognize that I've learned in the process of this past decade -- it is what I have not learned that inhibits my creativity, my flow... it is what I don't know that stops me in my tracks. Call it insecurities... call it thirty-something life crisis... whatever it may be... it hinders both my creative and academic production.
Time to kick the negative self talk and all this self deprecating defeating activity and... just do it. It will not be as easy as has been advised (essentially, "just write the damn thing already"). All my life I have been the impulsive one... three decades of being corrected, reprimanded and punished for not thinking before I act has translated to an overly cautious, slow and deliberate dissertation process. I'm ready to be deliberate and spend time on this.
I wrote my thesis in a semester, really in a week. I jumped through the hoops and when I finished that degree I felt a sense of accomplishment... I was proud at what I had done. I threw one line out to a doctoral program really for 'shits and giggles' -- not thinking I'd be accepted. I was given the chance, they accepted me and I thrived. That doctoral program was the first time in my life that I was accepted, praised, encouraged and truly felt a part of something.
Now, over the miles I attempt to seal the deal. I successfully navigated four years at Kent State, the coursework, the headaches, the heartaches, the brutal comprehensive exams... now here I am on the cusp of the completion of my doctorate. It's a pretty scary place to be... I've been told to watch what I wish for... I just may get it.
I proceed with an eager excitement and caution, a paradox that is Operation PhD.
