When I entered the world of academia I had a somewhat clear idea about what things would be like.  I knew being a grad student would be like being an undergrad but harder.  I knew that I'd have to work all the time, go to class, meet with my advisor, do research, do clinical work, work an assistantship.  There have been, however, some things that have happened that I could never have imagined happening. So here are...

15 things that happen when you become a graduate student:

1.  You talk about statistical analyses like they're a new car.  I was mediocre at math in high school.  It was the only non-honors class I took.  I was similarly mediocre in college when I got my first higher education A- in a statistics course.  Who knew that a few years later I'd be "talking shop" at work with my classmates, discussing the theory behind a new statistical technique, and looking forward to a third class in statistics.  It's a strange world and it does strange things to you.  My change in heart, I realized just today, is related to the idea that in grad school, statistics = power + independence.  Power to publish. Independence from stats geeks who slow you down with their busy schedules.  Those stats geeks are in high demand.

2.  You watch as someone slashes apart your paper.  I have a faculty collaborator who cannot review my work unless I am sitting in front of him.  So anytime I need him to read a paper in-progress I have to schedule an appointment.  Worse, I have to sit there, pretending to be open to constructive criticism, silently, as he excitedly dices my paper--which I spent no less than 48 hours writing--to smithereens.

3.  You look forward to revisions.  While the type of revisions in #2 are generally exclusively unpleasant, the types of revisions that come from editors....WOOOHOOO!  Yes sir, I will change the word "facilitate" to "increase."  No problem ma'am,  I'll re-analyze with an additional control variable.  You'll publish me if I mention your pet theory?!  Which study would you like me to cite?

4.  You wake up at 6am to do work before work.  The 14 hours available to you between 9am and 11pm are simply unsatisfactory.  You need the extra 3 in the morning too.  Goodbye sleep.  It's been real.  Hello dark mornings.  You suck.

5.  You praise yourself for being a normal human being.  Normal human-like behaviors are praise-worthy in your eyes.  Washing the dishes is a monumental achievement.  Washing the dishes after putting away the clean "still drying" dishes from four days ago?  God-like achievement.  Vacuuming?  I have no words.

6.  You regularly discuss how you are not actually a normal human being...or an adult.  Despite your qualifying age, you frequently discuss your lack of qualifications for adulthood.  Eventually your parents will stop paying your phone bill and co-signing your apartment.  Then, and only then, will you consider calling yourself an adult.

7.  You apologize profusely for absolutely no reason, at all times, to all people with Ph.D.s. Every statement is prefaced with "I'm probably wrong but..." and every small potential mistake is followed by an emphatic apology the likes of Kanye post-microphone-grab, pre-Kardashian (ugh...I just Googled that name to get the proper spelling...hope I don't catch anything).

8.  You have friends who refuse to talk about work outside of work.  This infuriates me!  How dare you tell me what to talk about and when to talk about it.  Have you no clue that the only thing I have to talk about is school?!  Rude!

9.  You spend 20 minutes proof-reading emails to faculty only to get a one-word response back a minute later.  There is nothing more anxiety-provoking to me than sending an email to a faculty person.  I sit there for 20 minutes, reading, re-reading, editing, changing the word "excited" to "thrilled,"  the salutation from "best" to "sincerely."  After all of this angst, the responses I generally receive reflect an emotion somewhere between absolute apathy and feigned disinterest.

10.  You and your friends celebrate more than anyone you know, while having less reason to celebrate than anyone you know.  First day of classes?  Cohort dinner!  Thesis proposal?  Dinner at a Chili's!  Thesis defense?  Locally grown, organic, grass-fed lunch!  Stats exam?  PARTY!  Thursday?  Sure why not.

11.  Your family wonders why you're not stressed.  "I'm surprised you're not more stressed than you are.  You're really holding it together."  These two sentences are frequently uttered.  They only serve to make you more stressed that you are not stressed enough.  Guilt is felt. Panic ensues. The days that follow these statements are the most productive days you'll have in your graduate career.

12.  "Vacation!?  Yes!  Time to work on my research!"  Sadly, "vacations" will turn into work time.  These times will provide you with the only uninterrupted work time you'll see.  Sometimes this uninterrupted work time will conveniently occur next to a pool or while sitting in sand, but don't fool yourself.  You're not relaxing.  You're producing.

13.  Your only response to the question "How long will you be in school?" is a hearty guffaw.  There is no other response to this question because aside from feeling like you'll be in school forever, you may actually be in school forever.  Graduate school lacks a definitive timeline.  Artistically reflecting this (art imitating life and all), your mental health will lack a definitive breaking point.  It's a gradual decomposition. #thestruggleisreal (#iactuallyhatehastags #whoinventedthiscrap?).

14.  You no longer fear the color red.  When you hand back papers to your undergraduate students you will feel perplexed by their tearful reactions.  "There's so much red" they'll say timidly, the effort to keep their emotions intact visible in their features.  You have grown callused to the color red. It no longer effects you.  It is simply data.  A representation of work yet to be done, but really, these days, what isn't a representation of work yet to be done?  You will attempt to explain this to your students.  They will simply respond with mixed looks of fear and admiration.  "This is what happens when you choose academia," you'll warn them ominously.  "This is what you'll become."

15.  Your cohort is your second family.  Amidst all of the red pen, guffawing, emails, celebrations, statistics, and writing, there is a shining beacon of hope. That is, your cohort.  These are the people with whom you entered your program.  The only people who really get you.  The only people to whom you can turn when shit has hit the fan, your advisor just switched schools, your thesis analyses sank, your grandma back home is sick, you're really hungry for a hamburger, and you need a good rant.  These are the people who will keep you sane.  They will talk to you for hours on end if you need it.  They will love you and you will love them.  You will become a dysfunctional family-like support system for each other faster than is probably normal.  But who cares.  I don't think I've met a normal family in my whole life.  Normal is overrated.

Keep on thinking,
Josie