Here is a fact I don't believe I've ever publicized: I am a doctoral student in a dual history and literature program. Just recently, I completed all the requirements of the program preceding the dissertation. That means that two and half years of course work and a year of self-directed study for comprehensive (qualifying) exams are now behind me. These weren't painless years, I assure you. If the reader only knew the bouts of loneliness and frustration, the anxiety and sinking self-confidence a doctoral student suffers in the course of his studies, he or she would be compelled to send me money or to give me a hug. (I would gladly accept the hug). I cannot deny the edification of prolonging and deepening one's education; indeed, I'm not the same person I was when I entered graduate school, chiefly because my perspectives on nearly everything, from my own existence to various ideas and institutions, have been overturned--though I cannot say with certainty if this is a curse or a blessing. Perhaps both, as always.
Anyway, now that I have won for myself (yes, we must speak in terms of victory) a greater degree of independence from curricular requirements, I am resolved to do all those fulfilling things I've denied myself as a career student. Here is a partial list:
1) To travel, particularly through a country I should know better, namely, our own.
2) Read everything I rarely had a chance to read, like Shakespeare, Henry James, eighteenth century philosophy, etc.
3) Blog more often!
4) Paint. I've wanted to do portraits in oil-paint for a long time.
5) And, of course, to write. To write the fiction I've longed to write, with competence and precision, backed by worldly experience, under the direction of a beautiful, thoughtful muse.
I shall report back on my progress, or die of disillusionment.
