After a serious applications campaign, I have been offered a place for PhD at John's Hopkins, UNC Chapel Hill, and Harvard. All three of these schools are amazing. I mean, just the idea of reading and writing and being in community with smart people is giving me life (Current PhD students please do not trample on my dreams yet). But guys, Harvard is the one I know from TV. Wherever I end up going, having been accepted there is like my adolescent self climbing into the TV and hanging out with Rory in that episode of Gilmore Girls where she visits Harvard with her sister/mom. It's un-fucking-believable.
Harvard rejected my application this time
last year, throwing me into a serious funk. Despite all the self-helpy
fall-six-times-and-get-up-seven stuff I know, I took the rejection to
heart. I thought it meant something about my ability. But as one of my
mentors said when I told him about the rejection - "with these things you
must persist." So I did.
Pretty soon after the rejection I started
getting up early to read and write, long before even looking at application
materials. For the month leading up to the common deadline for all these
applications I even stopped drinking wine you guys. WINE. (Before my friends
expose me, I should admit that I took weekly breaks from my month-long break
from wine). I even looked at poppers with a suspicious-nyana eye - what if they
make me dom? why can't I just wait until after the deadline. Nkosyam. No, I
worked, guys.
So I am allowing myself to share the news and
acknowledge some people out loud because this thing is no small thing, as my
dad said on the phone the other day:
1. A classmate in high school who told my
adolescent self in Science one day, after I had just told him my dream to study
at Harvard: "you're not that smart". Later a second-year who
late one night, in the first week of my undergrad program, told me:
"you're gonna fail act sci". Guys but you brought some hateration
into my dancery, hey. Modimo a le tshwarele.
2. A maths teacher who was unimpressed with an
A if "you should have gotten A+". A debating teacher who forced me
out of the mortal fear of standing in front of people and speaking. An
accounting teacher who taught me to do it again, and again, until it
balances.
3. Lecturers who were kind and generous
humans, but merciless examiners. Your half-a-mark per point, formula sheet-less
time-pressure exams were never quite like the tutorials we had practiced.
This was you greatest trick, and I never stopped being surprised by it. Hard
work; thick skin; the virtue of a solid, middle-of-the road C; and the ability
to work while crying, and other problematic coping strategies are what I walked
away with there.
4. This reminds me. Because of a generous
scholarship from the South African Actuarial Development Program, I had a free
higher education at UCT. I had no debt and I wasn't forced to work for anyone
when I graduated. I had a chance to experiment, and my experiments have brought
me to an exciting place intellectually. So, ye #FeesMustFall.
5. Mentors, friends and colleagues who see
more or demand more than I think I have. One who randomly invited me to his
office after we had met in a seminar, and over months taught me how to write
and publish an academic paper. One who I trust to look me in the eye, and with
kindness, tell me exactly how bad a piece of work is. (She once gave me
feedback on an essay that I had worked very hard on. It was so critical I had
to take a very serious nap before looking at the essay again). One who hired me
fresh out of grad school, and within the year, began sending me to do work with
people much older and much more experienced than me. On one of these occasions,
he encouraged me to send the meeting coordinator my slide deck just before
flying over to Geneva. When I pointed out that I had no slide deck because I
had not been invited to present, he gave me a new motto: "Sometimes you
just have to invite yourself to speak".
6. My family - who I am sure are not sure what
I do. But they are sure it's good, and are happy that I'm happy doing it. In
particular - my mom has been learning new things since I met her. Graduated
with a masters at 50 something. Learned how to make hats now in her 60s. (They're
fierce. message her. She is probably already your facebook friend. she taught
herself that as well). There is a shrine to education in my parent's house.
Every graduation we have ever had is shown there. If I remember correctly,
there is even a picture from the day my sister graduated pre-school. We take
graduation very seriously in my family - we are a graduating family. When I
called my mom this week, she reminded me of my little sister' upcoming
graduation. Specifically, she reminded me that at some point on that day, all
of us will need to be in our own academic regalia in a room with an official
photographer. This will be the next picture on the shrine. Im sure she is
already preparing for the one after that.
6. My manfriend, who is part of my family, of
course, but deserves a special shout-out because he got me a bubble machine for
my 30th birthday. A machine for bubbles guys. Do you have one? If not, then how
can you possibly know whether you are loved?
7. My reviewers and witnesses. You can't
apply to grad school alone. You need people to apply with you - to write:
"yes he capable" and "no he is not a catfish". In the
hyperbolic US system you need people to do a little more: "make your PhD cohort
great again!". Thank you for playing along. I also depended on people to
review very boring documents for free: CV's, essays about my interests, even
letters to the academics I fangirl. There is one academic I stanned for so hard
guys. When I read her book, it was literally like "I prayed that she would
finish / but she just kept right on / killing me softly with her song". It
turns out she was not even as into me as I was into her - maybe that was part
of the funk. Anyways, at least two of my reviewers read drafts of my aca-love
notes to her and provided solid feedback. Imagine that level of commitment to
the cause. I will pay it forward.
