I know, the title is a rip off of a major work, but, hey, it works!
A little about myself...
I am a wife to a wonderful man, a mother to three fabulous grown children (two of them have spouses that I would gladly claim as my own), a grandmother to a beautiful boy, and an educator with 28+ years of experience. I have been in school since I was 6 years old with the exception of 4 years between children, moving, etc. Yes, you did not make a mistake, I have been in school for about 43 years. Let me clarify this. I did not like school as a child and I was not a stellar student, but because of my profession, I keep returning. This is what the "edu-speak" people call a life-long learner.
About eight years ago, I had an opportunity to return to school to work on a doctorate in Educational Leadership, Policy, and Law. (Sounds impressive, doesn't it?) I applied to a program and was accepted in the first group of students. We were bound in a Cohort design, which means that we went to every class together for two years. Cohort I was populated by some of the finest people that I have ever known. These were, and are, really impressive people...principals, superintendents, reading specialists, college folks, a cooperative extension coordinator, and a couple of teachers. I really must admit that I was WAY out of my league. However, I had the opportunity to travel on this journey with them and I really couldn't believe my luck.
For two years, we spent more time with each other than we did with our families. We celebrated birthdays and anniversaries with each other, rather than with our families. We studied together, ate together, celebrated the end of courses together, and argued together. The operative word here is "together." As our coursework ended, we said goodbye, but we continued to email, call, and visit whenever we could. We were now embarking on our own individual journeys as we were supposed to dive into the dissertation process.
Several folks, finished right on time. Several of us lingered...and lingered...and lingered. I am now out of time. In the dissertation world, you have a limit of time before you must return to take additional classes or you are dropped from the program. I can offer lots of excuses for not working on my dissertation, but the truth is, I just didn't make time for it. I had missed my family during my two year classroom stint and they had missed me. I changed jobs, my oldest son graduated from college, my youngest son started college, my oldest son got a job and moved away, my daughter changed jobs and moved to Florida from Washington, my oldest son bought a house and married, lost his job, moved again, had a baby, my parents had illnesses, I had surgery on both feet...the list goes on and on. In other words, life got in the way. I got swept up in the hubris of life.
In January, I decided that it was now or never. This was a good decision, because two days after that moment of decision, I received a letter in the mail from the university stating that I had until November to finish everything, or I would have to take some additional classes. Now, I hadn't done anything in years, so the first thing I had to do was to go to see my patient and ever hopeful professor, who had religiously emailed me every other month or so. I needed to see him to ask for forgiveness. I needed to see him so that he would know that I was really going to do something. I needed to see him to make myself accountable to him for due dates. I needed to see him to know if he would still be willing to invest his time in me.
A word or two about my professors seems appropriate at this point. We were the first class and the program was in its infancy. There were three men who had all had successful careers elsewhere who came together to start this program. They had a wonderful secretary, who "mothered" all of us, and them. They were joined in our second year by a young female professor, who was just beginning her career. We spent almost every other weekend and usually three nights a week with these four professors. We learned from them and with them, we argued with them, we grumbled about them, but we respect and care for them. They all have my admiration and gratitude for their kindness, wisdom, and patience.
As a part of the dissertation process, I began to keep a personal journal that I titled, "Dissertation Madness." I have called it this because, I am pretty sure that I have had moments of insanity during this process. When I talked with friends who had completed their dissertations for some perspective, they would smile knowingly and talk me away from the edge of the abyss of frustration and hopelessness. I realized that I was still counting heavily on some of my friends from my cohort and I began to wonder what this would be like without someone to validate my experiences. For that reason, I have decided to post some of my journal. I hope that some of my experiences will help someone else who is in the process of writing a dissertation who doesn't have the benefit of these wise and loving friends.
