I'm going be completely honest, and Stephen's words of an "abortive PhD" brought it to the surface here. I've had something weighing on me for quite some time now. I would like nothing more than to release it, but I'm struggling to live up to my original decision to begin it. "Finish what you've started," are words that haunt me. I would love nothing more than to cut the albatross from my neck, and let it fall into the ocean.

On August 1, 7 years ago, I began a doctorate just as my son was born. It was inconvenient to begin a doctorate at that time, for both my family and I. To be blunt, my son was unexpected, although very welcome. Many a time, I would come up from class only to run to the Emergency Room at the nearby hospital for some infant malady. My wife took the brunt of this work, and I am deeply sorry that I continued with a doctorate. However, I was captivated by a dream to be the first in my family, not only to go to college, but earn a doctorate. My family supported me since it was their dream as well, that someone should scale the heights and prove it could be done. Lest I forget, I am Hispanic/Latino with an obligation to go where mostly white folks tread, and others, seldom (I find this line of reasoning silly but I share it here because that is a motivator for some).

So, when the first doctoral program came along--Educational Leadership--I jumped for the chance, even though I loathed administration (not administrators) and knew that I would NEVER be an administrator (ain't life funny, that's what I've been for the last 5.5 years).

I realized that a doctorate might not be for me in the midst of inferential statistics. I found the word "inferential" and "infernal" too close--stats was hellish for me, and I often walked out of class feeling DUMB. Two times, I didn't even wait for the end of class, I'd walk out early. It was a terrible way to feel. The professors were generally nice, yet I found myself holding back...i did not want to be changed the way I would have to be changed. I felt I was somehow, retaining my integrity. I'm not sure if I was wrong, if giving in to the pressure I felt would have been helpful to me finishing a doctorate. Only time and work will tell now.

I've come to the point of the comprehensive exam, and I HATE writing the way I have to write to answer the questions. I can crank out articles, blog entries, memos, reports and implementation plans, but this...this is just hateful writing for me. Worse, I have a profound dislike of what I'm writing...it seems fake, unauthentic. I feel a dread coming up inside me when it's time to write. I have some writing now that I need to do, and just the thought of stringing together ideas, finding multiple sources to support each, in a frail house of cards is just...energy sapping.

I want to quit. The clock is ticking and it's almost over. The buzzer will soon be heard, and I will be free. The sweetest words, "I quit" will come from a mouth that would never want to say "I quit."

I only remember this happening ONCE before in my life.

Before I arrived at my university at the age of 17, I was already a sophmore. I had CLEPped out of freshman courses pretty much, with the exception of math and science. But, you won't believe what my major was, and my ultimate goal--I was going to be a doctor, or failing that, a dentist (my apologies to dentists). That's right, even though I was terrible at math and science (I guess my future in the flat world is in question, too), I had the goal of being a doctor. So, I began my "freshman" year taking college algebra and Introduction to Chemistry, but taking Technical Writing (the only class I remember from Midwestern State University; it was taught by Dr. Ken Galbraith) and Sophmore English courses.

I'm not sure when it finally occurred to me to switch majors. But I do remember asking the question, "Why shouldn't I be an English major? This is what I'm good at [referring to writing]." I thought my parents would be angry with me. There was certainly disappointment, but less than I imagined. After all, I dropped out at the first class of Intro to Physics--the professor covered my entire high school physics semester course in ONE class--because it was way over my head.

Perhaps, it is that old dream re-asserting itself. I like to write and read, and that's why it seemed natural to assume that i would work well for a doctorate. But, looking back, I see now that I deluded myself. My strength in writing won't win me a Pulitzer, it won't get me a doctorate in English, or Educational Leadership. At least, it will help me share technical concepts with others as I puzzle through them myself, allow me to share ideas in a few publications, and enrich my life by connecting me with people I might never meet otherwise. For that, I'm grateful.

That's not what I'm afraid of. What i'm really afraid of is this:
I only pray that at the end of all, God will speak to me as if I'd invested my talent rather than buried it. That is finally it. That is where the dread comes from, that somehow, I have failed to live up to the expectations of using my talent to its full potential. And, why should such fear motivate anyone?

Thanks for reading.

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Categories: MGuhlin.net, Writing