(I know my flag is tangled in my trees. Thanks for letting me know. The flag guys are coming this week).
The subject of my attaining my Ph.D. is like my telling people I don’t like sushi.
Me: I don’t like sushi.
Them: Sure, you do.
Me: No, I don’t.
Them: You think you don’t, but you do.
Me: No. You think I do, but I don’t.
Them: You can think that, but you’d be wrong.
Me: I’m not wrong. It looks like alien tentacles.
Them: If you don’t like it, that’s just because you haven’t had it prepared correctly.
Me: It’s raw seafood. And seaweed. And rice. How else is it prepared other than raw?
Them: Trust me.
Me: No. I don’t. I’m not eating octopus, they’re highly sentient creatures.
Them: So don’t eat octopus. Who says you have to eat octopus?
Me: All I’m saying is that if you want sushi, you’d better make damn sure there is something else on the menu for me.
I recently overheard a man almost break into tears because he found out that the lunch menu at the restaurant wasn’t offering sushi out of season. His whole party left in a huff.
People be loving their sushi.
Other than publishing my book, getting my Ph.D. is the last remaining goal on my professional bucket list. But it’s starting to fade in importance. I’m afraid that if I get my Ph.D. I will have to start wearing a cape and a fedora. I will have to scowl importantly as I walk. I will have to have pseudo-intellectual discussions about academic minutiae with self-important pretentious people.
This is no castigation of people who get their Ph.Ds. It is an incredible achievement and honor. I think I’m just hoping that at some point, I will be awarded an honorary Ph.D., like the kind the Hollywood celebrities get. No out-of-pocket expenses, no long hours, weeks, months and years spent huddled over musty books in libraries. Just a “Here you go” and a “Fare thee well.”
The language used when discussing Ph.D. work used to excite me when I was younger. Research. Publishing. Libraries. Databases. Consortiums. Dissertations. Those words don’t titillate me anymore. Now I like words like: Boats. Vodka. Golf. Travel. Sunshine. Mountains. I worked with a colleague who once told me that his brother tried to get his Ph.D. in English but failed, and in the process almost had a nervous breakdown because of the pressure and work load and his 150k in debt.
A Ph.D. brings possibilities you couldn’t get otherwise. Elevated teaching positions. Research opportunities. Publishing offers. And let’s not forget the immediate elevated status you are awarded in any situation because you have the word “Doctor” in front of your name. In Phoenix, there were nine TED speakers, and seven had doctorates. Then there was me, and a young singer. The other speakers assumed that since I am a college professor, that I am also a Doctor of English. I didn’t lie and say I had it, but I also didn’t correct them.
I commented on a LinkedIn post featuring the Great and Powerful Greta Thunberg (can someone get this little girl a job on Disney+ already, and get her off my LinkedIn feed?), and a woman yelled at me, saying someone who has a Ph.D. in English should be more informed and respectful of a young girl trying to make a change in the world. I started to correct her as to my credentials and then stopped.
If enough people assume it, why bother spending the money and going through the stress? That’s honorary enough for me.
Time to rest on my laurels. Dr. Oves at your service.