From a new gem in my collection of ridiculous articles by academics:
The poker metaphor describes the hellish fate of the all-but-dissertation (ABD) student. Only in the parallel universe of academia is it possible to log years of Herculean scholarship, write and defend a complex dissertation proposal, and — upon failing to complete one’s dissertation — come away with nothing to show but the humiliation of not being recognized by the academic industrial complex for one’s blood, sweat and uncompensated toil.
I keep wondering, do people even remotely realize how idiotic they sound with all these “hellish fates, Herculean scholarships, humiliations, and blood, sweat and toils”? The article continues in the same vein, piling on one ridiculously overblown drama-queenish statement after another:
Dysfunctional graduate departments, toxic faculty, and the Navy Seal-like brutality of the Ph.D. process all contribute to the burnout experienced by the estimated 50-plus percent of Ph.D. students who fail to earn their doctorates.
This is why I like talking with my contractor. He doesn’t have an easy life. His wife has been made redundant at her job last week, and they need her salary to make ends meet. He works 70 hours a week, doing hard manual labor, often outside in the scorching heat. There is never any certainty as to whether he’ll have any orders next week or next month. Clients often refuse to pay, lose stuff in their houses and accuse the contractor of stealing, call the police. The truck is disintegrating, and the contractor’s back is giving him a lot of trouble.
And in spite of all these normal problems of an adult’s life, the contractor is a very content, happy person. I like hanging around him when he works because he exudes peacefulness, calm, and contentment. When he shares his problems, it’s always in a “Life is a funny yet beautiful thing” tone. He very obviously digs what he does and really enjoys his life, problems and all.
You can blab all you want about “the Navy Seal-like brutality of the Ph.D. process” but it is obvious to everybody but the most entitled and self-involved that sitting on one’s ass in an air-conditioned, quiet, beautiful library is a little less taxing than chopping wood and hauling branches for 7 hours in the +93F heat. Everywhere, in all walks of life (which is a stupid expression but I’m on the run and don’t have time to look for an alternative) people do their work, face problems, find solutions, and enjoy existence. It is only in academia where sheltered, extremely fortunate people whine all day and every day over every tiny little thing that is not absolutely perfect.
And the shit is contagious. I isolate myself as much as I can but sometimes I can’t avoid getting into “the Navy Seal-like brutality of stubbing my toe” mode. It’s pleasing to indulge in the dramatic self-aggrandizement, it makes one feel important, and delightfully persecuted. It also offers a great excuse to get no work done.
In spite of these important bonuses, however, this is an absolutely shameful way of frittering away one’s own life.
Clarissa's Blog 
Perhaps if the candidates did more sit ups and push ups, they would not feel the strain in their muscles they appear to feel. I guess the only solution would be to work them harder! (Navy seal type solution to the apparent problem.)
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This was a great post, it really cheered me up! I am with you 100%.
“the Navy Seal-like brutality of the Ph.D. process”
Oh FFS. Where are these programs that are so taxing? My graduate students have maximal freedom to do what they want and when they want, all the while doing work that goes towards their dissertations, being paid for said work and having their tuition and healthcare paid for, at the end of which they will have excellent earning potential. That’s hardly an awful way to spend your early twenties.
Among my undergrads, I remember vividly the kids who worked all the way through school, usually spending whole summers doing roofing, siding, and other contracting work. They seem to really cherish their education, more than many of their peers.
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My father was a Navy SEAL. Trust me when I say I have a much easier life working my way up through academia than doing life-or-death missions in the jungles of Vietnam like he did. There’s hyperbole and then there’s “Aw, come on, go outside and smell the roses for fuck’s sake” (as Dad used to say whenever someone was being too particularly drama-queenish for his liking)
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“My father was a Navy SEAL. Trust me when I say I have a much easier life working my way up through academia than doing life-or-death missions in the jungles of Vietnam like he did.”
– Believe me, I could never doubt this.
I’m hoping that the younger generation of academics represented by you will do things differently.
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If they don’t, I’ll be sure to stash a container of smelling salts in my desk to offer up whenever I hear a persecution complex rising to the surface in a colleague. 🙂
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