Social Psychology with Jeff

Looking back at my time in graduate school so far, there are three general phases that I experienced as a PhD student. Each phase was faced with a question that I asked myself, and I have seen others ask themselves the same questions  over the years. This post will describe these three questions and my experiences with them before offering different (and better) questions to ask ourselves.

Am I good Enough? I skated by as an A-minus student in high school and college. I got by with intellect and my photographic memory (although it has its drawbacks in social interactions), so I never actually learned how to study. I did well on exams, and I used my experience as a debater to form streams of consciousness that masked as good papers.

I thought I was a good student until I realized that I was not. I did not know how to study, write professionally or academically, or how to perform at the level expected of a PhD student. I thought I was finished before I even began.

This experience is nonunique. First year students or newly hired employees are often thrusted into an already formed group of working professionals. We get hired because someone saw potential in us and our ability to succeed and add value to the group. Usually, this is the culmination of every life decision and sacrifice up to that point.

We get here, excited to excel at this new opportunity and to show that every decision we made was worth it. That is, until we realize that the gap between what we know and what we are expected to learn is much more than we could have ever imagined, and that our level of performance that was considered stellar or exceptional places us as average-at-best.

I spent my first year of graduate school learning how to become the person I thought everyone expected me to be. I had to learn the fundamentals and show that I could be trusted with live ammo. I went from not competent to competent only after many trials and errors and learning how to ask for guidance from peers and mentors. I am still learning to master them today while keeping up with new trends and updated best practices.

I thought it would get easier. Everyone said that year one was the hardest when pursuing a PhD. I would later realize that the people telling me this were in year two, and year two was the year where the responsibilities became realer.

How do we do it all? I realized the increase in responsibilities about a month before the start of my second year. Year-long group projects were forming. Mid-stakes progress checks were approaching. Life seemed to both become faster and consist of an endless loop of logistics and planning, putting out fires, and reporting on the progress we made.

I remember talking to a close colleague about these new challenges. They said: “Remember when we thought we were busy last year? That seems like a joke. How foolish were we?”

My response? “Yep. This is crazy. What did we sign up for?” I wondered how I would make it through graduate school now that I was considered somewhat useful.

Looking back, there were two challenges that I faced starting in year two. First, I had to learn how to balance meaningful opportunities. Some decisions will lead to CV lines and checked-off requirements. Others will lead to learned experiences and forgotten failures. Some might lead to multiyear collaborations, while others might fade away after a few weeks. Unfortunately, we do not know the outcome until after it occurs, so I had to learn how to prioritize tasks while identifying the effort needed to participate in them. To paraphrase Mark Manson’s The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, we must choose what we care about and acknowledge that every decision has a tradeoff.

Second, I had to learn how to say “no.” Once we become useful, everyone wants us to help them succeed. I said yes to more roles than I should, but I let my fears of being perceived as someone who could not handle it put me into situations that made it harder to accomplish my goals. It took me a minute, but I learned that I cannot do it all while concurrently learning how to take ownership of my path.

What do I want to become? I first pondered this after I completed the gauntlet of the first two years of my PhD program. I pondered again when I accepted my first part-time teaching position. I pondered this question three more times in the last 15 months: when I planned my life around moving in with my ex-partner away from Claremont, when I hastily moved back after we broke up, and when I had to decide what my endgame plans for my PhD program would look like.

I know that I know the fundamentals. I can identify my strengths as a researcher, an administrator, and a lecturer or professor in training. But I need to figure out what I want to do with the next step of my life.

I now regularly have this conversation with myself as I go through the challenges of routine responsibilities and becoming a better version of myself. However, I am phrasing it differently. Instead of answering just one question, I am asking myself many questions about my future goals and considering the consequences of these actions. Do I move to where the best opportunity is for my career or move closer to my aging parents and family members? What type of job do I want? What domain would I want that job to be in (e.g., academia, government, or industry)? What do I want my everyday life to look like in terms of work and non-work contexts? What do I value? What can I live without?

To again draw from Mark Manson’s The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck (seriously, go read the book), I spent so much time paralyzed by my search for answers that I did not realize the questions that were guiding my life. Elvis Duran’s Where Do I Begin? offers a similar sentiment: learning how to ask better questions leads to more fulfilling answers and a more meaningful life. Learning to ask questions—and ask better questions—has improved my professional and personal life. I am now trying to do so without the fear of knowing where it will go.

What would I tell those facing these challenges?

I thought this post would end with answers that I would tell a younger version of myself. However, that would not help anyone. I cannot become a younger version of myself, and answers without knowing the questions they respond to are meaningless. Instead of answers, here are better questions that we can ask ourselves:

Are you good enough? Probably, yes. However, that is irrelevant to what you are feeling and your survival. I would ask yourself these questions instead: “Why are you here?” “How do I learn?” “How can I study or perform more effectively?” “How do others who seem to have it together work, and what can I learn from them?” “What do I not want to become?” “How can I balance my life with my responsibilities?”

How do you do it all? You cannot, and a life where you are doing everything halfway is not a meaningful or fulfilling life. Instead, ask yourself these questions: “What is important to me?” “What do I enjoy?” “Will this group survive without my involvement?” “How will this help me with my future goals?” “Why was I asked to do this?” “If I had to cut 80% of my responsibilities, would this task or role make the cut?” “What skills are fundamental to my career?” “What skills can help me stand out?” “How do I develop these skills?” “How can I balance my life between work, graduate school, and the life I want to live today?”

What do you want to become? I spent a lot of time reading self-perspectives of others describing their journeys to where they are today. Elvis Duran’s Where Do I Begin? is a great start. Abby Wambach’s Forward is second. Any anthology of Rick Reilly is third, as each story has a unique and often humorous perspective on life overall. After that, it all comes down to figuring out the answers to these questions: “What life do I want to live?” “How do I get there?” “Do I want this type of life?” “What do I want to care about? “How can I balance my life I am living today with the life that I want to have tomorrow?”