Cajoling Myself

No, I’m not writing this post just because I want to use the word “cajoling,” although it is a great word, isn’t it? Say it out loud. See? It even sounds like you’re giving yourself a pep talk, kind of like poking yourself in the ribs. And it has a happy sound. You’re encouraging yourself, not beating yourself up (that would be “manhandling” or “coercing.”)

Okay, enough about words and down to business. I’m actually writing this post because this morning, I realized something about myself. I’m not organized or disciplined or driven to achieve. I simply cajole myself through life.

Today was weightlifting day, something that comes around about three times a week for me. Some days, I really enjoy it. I’m eager to begin, and each lift feels great. My body feels fit and strong. I am joyously alive. I even feel a little righteous. Today was not such a day.

I told myself, “Just do your run, and if you don’t feel like lifting, you don’t have to.” Of course, this is a sneaky move. First of all, it gets me in my exercise clothes and out the door, which is half the battle. Then after my run I’m already sweaty, so I can’t use the excuse that I don’t want to get that way. I told myself, “Well, you might as well go ahead and lift a few weights. If you want to quit after the first set, you can.” Then, of course, it was “Well, just one more set.” Then, “You don’t want to be a quitter, do you?” And finally, “Come on. Just one more set! Think of all those hump-backed little old ladies you see in Walmart who struggle to lift their groceries from the cart to the checkout. You don’t want to end up like that do you?” And before I knew it, I was done.

See, it wasn’t will power. I just cajoled myself through it, a strategy I knew would work because I’d done it before. And not just with workouts.

I got through my undergraduate years this way. I was driving two hours one-way, with three children at home, and when I’d get overwhelmed, I’d tell myself: “You can quit tomorrow, but you’re not going to quit today. All you have to do is what’s required today.” And I didn’t quit. Certainly I’ve gotten through my doctoral program by cajoling myself. “Wow, that’s a really long checklist of really hard requirements. Maybe I can’t do this. Well, I’ll just get through the coursework and worry about the rest later.” When it got time for my comps reading, it was: “Just start the first book. Okay, check. Now the next one . . .” And writing papers? “Okay, just do the research. Now an outline. Just write an introduction . . .” I plan on completing the dissertation using the same method.

Writing teachers always say to stay away from clichés, and I understand why. They are “tired language,” and writers want to be original and striking. But clichés become clichés because they are true to life. “The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.” “Inch by inch, it’s a cinch. Yard by yard, it’s too hard.”

Works for me.

Another Big Check Mark

After a week and a half of a steady low-grade headache and a somewhat sick-to-my-stomach feeling, I am miraculously healed! Amazing what passing comps can do for your health!

I have heard horror stories about PhD committees--impossible-to-please professors, power struggles between big egos, candidates unwittingly choosing committee members that simply cannot get along--but I'm blessed with a wonderful committee. All throughout the process they have held me to high standards and required quality work, but have also always been ready with a smile, advice, and whatever help I needed. My director e-mailed me the day before the Oral Comp to encourage me. He said, "Don't think of it as an Inquisition. Think of it as an intelligent conversation. We're not out to 'get you.' Each one of us respects you and wants to see you succeed." That really helped. And although I was very nervous at the beginning, he was right. It was more like talking with three good friends than facing the firing squad.

My Wonderful Committee:

L to R: Dr. Colby Kullman, me, Dr. Natalie Schroeder, and Dr. Ronald Schroeder (director)

This was taken immediately after the Oral Comp; you can see the relief in my big smile. One more check mark on the list. I'm offically ABD now!

A couple of good friends, fellow PhD-pursuers, helped me celebrate the milestone. We had a wonderful dinner at Old Venice, checked out Square Books (what else would you expect people pursuing a PhD in English to do?), and shared a huge dessert and coffee while looking over the Square at Downtown Grill.

Tara, me, and Sarah

Thanks, guys, for helping me celebrate my special day!

The Big Question

I think that, today, I know more about Restoration and 18th century British Literature than I will on any other given day of my life.

The big question is, "Do I know enough?"

I guess I'll just have to follow some advice I was given by an undergrad professor right before a particularly terrifying final exam. He said, "You have a library in your head. Calm down and use it."

I just hope all the books are properly shelved and that nothing I need has been checked out.

How I Feel Now

Tomorrow's the big day. After months of reading and weeks of intense study, this is how I feel now:

This is what I want to do:

Think it'll help?

Sorry, Larry

Well, in exactly eight days I’ll be taking my Oral Comprehensive exam. If you’ve been following the side columns of this blog, you’ve probably already noticed that the “What I’m Reading Now” column hasn’t been changing much lately. These two facts are connected.

The poetry reading’s still going strong. As planned, I read at least two or three poems every morning, some mornings even more. And right now, for my “devotional” reading (for lack of a better term), I’m reading Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts about Faith. The only problem here is that I could really get into this book. She’s so honest about her faith journey and her prose is so beautiful that I’d love to just sit and read this book straight through. The small sections that I’m allowing myself daily just whet my appetite for more, and it’s taking some real self control to put the book down and get to the task at hand. Poor Larry McMurtry’s been languishing on my list for an embarrassing amount of time, and it’s not because I’m not enjoying his memoir. It’s that between going to conferences and studying for comps, he’s been put on the back burner. Sorry, Larry.

In My Dreams

On Tuesday, October 7, 2008, at about 3:23 in the afternoon, I finished the last page of the last book on my Oral Comps reading list. For this part of the Candidacy Examination, Ole Miss requires students to choose a discrete period of literary history, and then to read the fiction, non-fiction, drama, poetry, and attendant criticism pertaining to it. In my case, it was an era in British Literature often called “The Long Eighteenth Century,” a literary period bracketed by two historical events—the restoration of Charles II to the throne in 1660 and the death of Jane Austen in 1817. My list took me four months of steady reading to cover. Reading was my job, my hobby, my life. It took total precedence over everything else. (If you don’t believe me, come write your name in the dust on my furniture or check out the empty pantry.)

When I turned that last page, I felt relief and a great sense of accomplishment—for all of about one minute. Very quickly, the realization that I had only two weeks to review and study for the two-hour oral exam and the fact that my “study sheet” had grown to 129 pages dampened all feelings of elation.

It’s been an arduous but interesting process. Never before have I spent so long a time so intensely involved in the study of one particular area. Obviously, the literature generated over more than a hundred years is extensive, in both breadth and depth, and widely varying in style, intent, and content, but in plugging away through the material day after day, I began to see patterns emerge, themes appear and develop; I could discern an overarching historical movement and trace connections between authors. I don’t kid myself that I’ll be able to remember everything I’ve read, but I’m amazed at what I’ve learned, and when I found myself lecturing about 18th century literature in my dreams, I thought something must be going right.