I'm in the process of relocating (really not to be advised during a PhD, but life carries on regardless). As part of this process I'm putting some of my stuff into storage. This is raising the 'if you can do without this for 6 months, why do you need it at all? type of question, not to mention the 'what the heck is in all the cupboards/spaces behind those brightly coloured doors? Who is storing stuff here and why? What's going on in those people's lives, that they need to put stuff somewhere and pay for it while they go somewhere else/do something else? type of questions? No doubt those questions have something to do with the fact I'm wrestling with Draft 807 of Chapter 1 of my thesis on quite another subject and welcome any distraction.
I had mini 'light bulb' moment yesterday, when neatly arranging another 3 boxes, two chairs and a tube of posters I just can't seem to send to recycling. There are some similarities here to the way I'm storing information as part of my doctoral study. I looked at the 10+ boxes I'd carefully packed and stored two weeks ago and thought - what the hell is in those boxes?! Then I looked more closely at the cryptic label I'd scribbled on the box and thought, ah, yes....I remember - that box contains the crockery I'm not yet ready to dispose of/the diaries I wasted two hours reading/the photo albums I just don't have the time or energy to digitise. Probably because I'm on draft 807 of my chapter, I'm keenly aware that there's a mass, a partially-digested mass, of information, literature and theory, that my mind is simply too miniscule to keep hold of. I access it through my (pretty excellent) filing system, or by riffling through the tower of books next to my desk, or by sitting very still and trying to channel that particular author...(not always successful)...
The point I'm trying to make is that it's all there somewhere, a year's effort, even if I've forgotten it's there. I may not need it now but I might need it later. It's ok to put it in storage. I may never need it, but I don't know yet, so it's ok to put it in storage. There will no doubt come a time when I collect and sort out my boxes and send half of the contents to recycling/Freecycle/the tip/the bottom of the cupboard. But the other half I'll unwrap and be surprised and delighted by and know immediately how that particular item (spatula, cushion, DIY manual) fits into my life at that point.
Monday, 16 September 2013
Wednesday, 28 August 2013
on pencil sharpening and swimming
Along with the definite whiff of autumn in the air comes that 'back to school' feeling as September approaches. I'm tidying my desk and sharpening my pencils in readiness for my second year as a PhD student. In fact, pencils really have become an important part of my toolkit - during my first year of doctoral study I rediscovered my love of stationery: pens, pencils, notebooks. By the end of these three years there will be a stack of once beautiful but dogeared notebooks full of lists, ideas and scribbled references, tracing the halting and haphazard journey through my PhD.
During my first year, those physical tools of writing offered a welcome alternative to the sea of virtual wordage which seeped onto my screen on a daily basis, threatening sometimes, to overwhelm me. Earlier this summer Charlie Booker wrote a Guardian article entitled 'Too much talk for one planet' http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/jul/28/too-much-talk-charlie-brooker. in which he bemoaned the 'vast cloud of blah ... events and noise, events and noise' to which he had been contributing and from which he had decided to take a break. I was ready for a break myself - from the 'events and noise' associated with PhD study (journals, papers, books, updates, alerts, blogs, twitter...). I spent two weeks living in minimalist fashion in a tent in the South of France. It took twenty minutes to make a cup of tea (I'm British, of course I make tea in the South of France!) and I developed a new appreciation for the minor miracle that is a chair.
Since my return, it's taken almost two weeks to reluctantly dip a toe back into that sea of words. But the new year is upon me and I need to get swimming again. On that note, enough of this reflective blah, time to dive in..!
During my first year, those physical tools of writing offered a welcome alternative to the sea of virtual wordage which seeped onto my screen on a daily basis, threatening sometimes, to overwhelm me. Earlier this summer Charlie Booker wrote a Guardian article entitled 'Too much talk for one planet' http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/jul/28/too-much-talk-charlie-brooker. in which he bemoaned the 'vast cloud of blah ... events and noise, events and noise' to which he had been contributing and from which he had decided to take a break. I was ready for a break myself - from the 'events and noise' associated with PhD study (journals, papers, books, updates, alerts, blogs, twitter...). I spent two weeks living in minimalist fashion in a tent in the South of France. It took twenty minutes to make a cup of tea (I'm British, of course I make tea in the South of France!) and I developed a new appreciation for the minor miracle that is a chair.
Since my return, it's taken almost two weeks to reluctantly dip a toe back into that sea of words. But the new year is upon me and I need to get swimming again. On that note, enough of this reflective blah, time to dive in..!
Thursday, 18 July 2013
damn good all over
I've just emerged from a six week writing bubble, working on drafts of my first two thesis chapters. They were submitted to deadline and I've re-entered regular life - temporarily at least. Drafting each chapter was challenging in different ways. I find writing about themes and ideas comes more naturally than writing about numbers and facts so at times, the context chapter felt dry as dust. But while writing the theory chapter flowed more easily, I was continuously assailed by the fear I was only scratching the theoretical surface.
The day after submitting the drafts, I was rewarded with two stimulating posts on different blogs: Pat Thomson on emotional research and Arlene Stein on intellectual craftsmanship. Both spoke to different aspects of my recent writing experience.
Pat Thomson's post considers the place of emotion, including anger, in research and how this can motivate the researcher to produce engaging, compelling work. I feel fortunate, a year into my PhD to be more not less interested in my topic (part-time, mature undergraduate retention). I'm researching it at a time when part-time enrolments in HE have dropped 40% thanks to the funding reforms. What's happened has made me pretty angry and especially when I read the words of those writing after Dearing in 1997, who felt hopeful about the potential for the HE system to encompass lifelong and flexible learning. The sometimes dull, sometimes fascinating work of uncovering the context of my research - and my own industry - has fed my motivation further.
Arlene Stein's post addresses the instrumentalising of intellectual activity, the pressure to 'produce', leading to 'the production of routine work that fails to inspire oneself or others'. She advocates a return to craftsmanship - an engagement with our work, seeing writing as craft requiring technique and playfulness. My struggles with sense, flow and even elegance have been part of the crafting process, an engagement with my research, my topic so that others might engage with it too.
Both posts addressed motivation and engagement - key ingredients in this doctoral process - in different ways. What both made me realise is that whether I'm writing about numbers, facts, themes or ideas, compelling, well crafted writing is absolutely necessary because both chapters are doing the same thing: telling the story of my research for a purpose. Arlene Stein quotes C. Wright Mills' from The Sociological Imagination - and perhaps I'll put this up on my wall: 'I am trying to make it damm good all over'.
The day after submitting the drafts, I was rewarded with two stimulating posts on different blogs: Pat Thomson on emotional research and Arlene Stein on intellectual craftsmanship. Both spoke to different aspects of my recent writing experience.
Pat Thomson's post considers the place of emotion, including anger, in research and how this can motivate the researcher to produce engaging, compelling work. I feel fortunate, a year into my PhD to be more not less interested in my topic (part-time, mature undergraduate retention). I'm researching it at a time when part-time enrolments in HE have dropped 40% thanks to the funding reforms. What's happened has made me pretty angry and especially when I read the words of those writing after Dearing in 1997, who felt hopeful about the potential for the HE system to encompass lifelong and flexible learning. The sometimes dull, sometimes fascinating work of uncovering the context of my research - and my own industry - has fed my motivation further.
Arlene Stein's post addresses the instrumentalising of intellectual activity, the pressure to 'produce', leading to 'the production of routine work that fails to inspire oneself or others'. She advocates a return to craftsmanship - an engagement with our work, seeing writing as craft requiring technique and playfulness. My struggles with sense, flow and even elegance have been part of the crafting process, an engagement with my research, my topic so that others might engage with it too.
Both posts addressed motivation and engagement - key ingredients in this doctoral process - in different ways. What both made me realise is that whether I'm writing about numbers, facts, themes or ideas, compelling, well crafted writing is absolutely necessary because both chapters are doing the same thing: telling the story of my research for a purpose. Arlene Stein quotes C. Wright Mills' from The Sociological Imagination - and perhaps I'll put this up on my wall: 'I am trying to make it damm good all over'.
Thursday, 4 July 2013
life on campus
For the last three days I've been cocooned within the leafy surroundings of one of England's 'plate-glass' campus universities, a product of the Robbins era and very much a major player in the contemporary higher education scene. The campus was devoid of undergraduate students but teeming with the people that make the university business model work...conference delegates.
Conferences are changing...these days at least 50% of delegates have their heads in their iPads during keynotes and presentations, another 25% are checking their phones as if their sanity depended on it. Are we bored, lonely, curious, or simply unable to leave the office? This conference had live tweets beamed onto the big screen during the introductory speeches. It provided a distraction when the speeches flagged or disappointed, but really, is this polite?
The best thing about the last three days has been reconnecting with the other students on my scholarship scheme. We're based at institutions around the UK and last met in November at an induction event. A lot of water has passed under the bridge since then and it was good to catch up, eat together, drink together (some more than others!), compare notes, share woes, welcome new members. We're all on the same track, deadlines biting at our heels, juggling study, work, personal lives. There's something to be said for a bit of group solidarity now and then. Keep it up guys!
Related posts
Campus what campus
.
Conferences are changing...these days at least 50% of delegates have their heads in their iPads during keynotes and presentations, another 25% are checking their phones as if their sanity depended on it. Are we bored, lonely, curious, or simply unable to leave the office? This conference had live tweets beamed onto the big screen during the introductory speeches. It provided a distraction when the speeches flagged or disappointed, but really, is this polite?
The best thing about the last three days has been reconnecting with the other students on my scholarship scheme. We're based at institutions around the UK and last met in November at an induction event. A lot of water has passed under the bridge since then and it was good to catch up, eat together, drink together (some more than others!), compare notes, share woes, welcome new members. We're all on the same track, deadlines biting at our heels, juggling study, work, personal lives. There's something to be said for a bit of group solidarity now and then. Keep it up guys!
Related posts
Campus what campus
.
Friday, 21 June 2013
Temporary remedies for worker-ants
Earlier this week, Nick Hopwood posted 10 things you should know about a PhD but may not have been told. On reading the post I located myself somewhere between 1. (you and your work are crucial to the future of humanity and the world); 2. (you're in an astonishing position of privilege); 5. (yes it is hard) and 6. (you will continue to feel like a fraud). It hasn't been a comfortable position to be in! So in the spirit of Nick's '10 things' here are a paltry three I've come up with as a remedy for my current discomfort:
1. Scale down. Getting limited satisfaction from small stuff can gradually ease the sense of disappointment and impending panic (what's the point? I've wasted six months reading the wrong things? etc). A week of small stuff means my desk's tidier, I've got my references up to date AND I've managed to work on small tasks which will, at some point, contribute towards the whole: drafting small sections in timed sessions; checking out bang up to date journal articles on my topic....If I haven't done what I'd ideally like to have done this week, I have, at least done something.
2. Let some air in. The atmosphere between you and your supervisor(s) can become very rarified. Allow yourself and your ideas to breathe. Get fresh air circulating. Talk to others in your field whose opinion you respect, absorb the implications of different perspectives, rehearse your ideas in different circles. Freshen your thinking and your conviction about your research and your right to do it may well strengthen. And there's nothing better than literally taking some air. Get outside and walk.
3. Get off the beaten track. If your confusion and sense of inadequacy are becoming entrenched, try a detour. Cross discipline, read someone/something new, go and hear someone speak/sing/play and enjoy their competence in what they do. Sometimes detours give us unexpected views of the roads we were travelling on or remind us why we chose that route in the first place.
I'll let you know how it goes....
1. Scale down. Getting limited satisfaction from small stuff can gradually ease the sense of disappointment and impending panic (what's the point? I've wasted six months reading the wrong things? etc). A week of small stuff means my desk's tidier, I've got my references up to date AND I've managed to work on small tasks which will, at some point, contribute towards the whole: drafting small sections in timed sessions; checking out bang up to date journal articles on my topic....If I haven't done what I'd ideally like to have done this week, I have, at least done something.
2. Let some air in. The atmosphere between you and your supervisor(s) can become very rarified. Allow yourself and your ideas to breathe. Get fresh air circulating. Talk to others in your field whose opinion you respect, absorb the implications of different perspectives, rehearse your ideas in different circles. Freshen your thinking and your conviction about your research and your right to do it may well strengthen. And there's nothing better than literally taking some air. Get outside and walk.
3. Get off the beaten track. If your confusion and sense of inadequacy are becoming entrenched, try a detour. Cross discipline, read someone/something new, go and hear someone speak/sing/play and enjoy their competence in what they do. Sometimes detours give us unexpected views of the roads we were travelling on or remind us why we chose that route in the first place.
I'll let you know how it goes....
Thursday, 13 June 2013
seventy steps of shame
My PhD supervisor's office is on the third floor of an old building without a lift. I counted the other day - there are 70 steps up, with a particularly steep flight of stairs between the second and third floors. I've developed a habit of pausing, twice, on my way up so as not to arrive breathless and sweaty in their office - I'm sure they're heartily sick of visitors' complaints! I suspect however, that my stair-climbing routine is not only for their comfort, but also something to do with the complex, tacit and occasionally uncomfortable powerplay at work in the supervisory relationship. After all, if I arrive literally unable to speak, my voice can't be heard.
Developing my own voice within my writing has been something I've been working on this year - and the work continues! Ensuring my voice is heard in the shaping of my empirical research is a whole new - and quite honestly - unexpected - project and I have a feeling I'm just at the start of it! As with many things 'PhD', these territorial scuffles are a part of the journey for which the directions are imprecise, everyone will have their version of the 'right' way to get from A-B.
Back to that staircase....I may have a strategy for going up those stairs, but going down them can be a different matter. Last week, they became the 70 steps of shame after a bruising supervisory session. Bruising you understand, only to a fledgling academic intellect and a fragile ego. Ten days later and I'm still assessing and working through the impact. I'm assailed by all those feelings doctoral students experience - I'm not good enough, I can't do it....I recognise that the downer has come as such a shock because only a month earlier I'd finally felt I was making some real progress, getting a grasp of the literature, developing my own voice in my writing. No doubt you'll tell me this is all part of the journey too, detours and dead ends are essential!
Back to that staircase....I may have a strategy for going up those stairs, but going down them can be a different matter. Last week, they became the 70 steps of shame after a bruising supervisory session. Bruising you understand, only to a fledgling academic intellect and a fragile ego. Ten days later and I'm still assessing and working through the impact. I'm assailed by all those feelings doctoral students experience - I'm not good enough, I can't do it....I recognise that the downer has come as such a shock because only a month earlier I'd finally felt I was making some real progress, getting a grasp of the literature, developing my own voice in my writing. No doubt you'll tell me this is all part of the journey too, detours and dead ends are essential!
Monday, 3 June 2013
a different light
I've been staring rather hard at the view from my window recently. I'm moving from rural Gloucestershire to urban Yorkshire at the end of the summer. So I'm trying to imprint on my memory the sight of spring in the garden and across the valley.
One thing which always beguiles and sometimes startles me is the sudden transformation worked by the sun emerging from cloud or the simple and temporary brilliance of the evening sun on the fields and the trees. It's like a light being switched on - an illumination.
My experience of my doctoral research can be like that (ok, not that often!). Suddenly, through reading, or writing, my perspective shifts, opens up and ideas, concepts, metaphors connect. I realise the connections have been there all along, but invisible to me, just waiting for the clouds to clear or the sun to move, imperceptibly, to another spot.
I want to capture these moments of insight, just as I'm trying to hold the sight of the fields, trees and shadows in my memory. If I don't get them down on paper/on screen, then like the way the sunlight travels across the fields and the leaves, they can be all too transitory.
One thing which always beguiles and sometimes startles me is the sudden transformation worked by the sun emerging from cloud or the simple and temporary brilliance of the evening sun on the fields and the trees. It's like a light being switched on - an illumination.
My experience of my doctoral research can be like that (ok, not that often!). Suddenly, through reading, or writing, my perspective shifts, opens up and ideas, concepts, metaphors connect. I realise the connections have been there all along, but invisible to me, just waiting for the clouds to clear or the sun to move, imperceptibly, to another spot.
I want to capture these moments of insight, just as I'm trying to hold the sight of the fields, trees and shadows in my memory. If I don't get them down on paper/on screen, then like the way the sunlight travels across the fields and the leaves, they can be all too transitory.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)