It looks something like this...
As I sat down to send emails and polish my statements, I began to struggle. I couldn't get my mind focused. I would put it off, using my teaching materials as an excuse. I was too busy. I'll get to it. I've done this before. Forcing it could ruin my chances, right?
Although it just might amuse them
I'm now a month into the process, and I've not finished anything. In fact, and I'm not ashamed to admit it, I've sunk pretty low emotionally when considering it. My goal has always been to get my Ph.D. Getting my acceptance to Brandeis for my M.A. was the best feeling in the world, but it was just one shining pebble on the shores of the Nile (when you get that pun, trust me it'll be worth it).
If Grad Schools sent me The Nile in a letter, I wouldn't complain though
My last round of applications was the toughest. I had just finished my thesis with shining colors (something which has become my proudest accomplishment), presented at the first Classics conference at Brandeis, and I was watching all of my peers receive their well-deserved Yes's. But there I was, watching the last threads of hope for that round get cut. It's not an easy thing hearing No, even for someone who has heard it so many times.
"Try again next year, we've got tons more denial letters to use up. Would be a shame to throw them out"
When the last denial finally came in from Hopkins, I wasn't angry, I was just scared. When I had my first complete round of denial, I had the safety net of an extra year at PSU to fall back on. This was much less safe. What I was entering was a year cut off from school, which would make my next round of applications more challenging. How would I explain a year off? What am I qualified to do? How the hell am I going to afford my life? Could I convince the student loan people that I was dead?
Even if they caught me, I'd get an awful lot of reading done in jail
Now, I'm here, still in exile from academia, but preparing to fight for my chance to get back. I just had to find a way out of my funk. The answer, true to form, came to me from the pen (more like stylus) of Marcus Tullius Cicero. On weekends I work nights at a Holiday Inn, running the night audit and manning the desk, which gives me ample free time for catching up on my classwork and, of course, reading. Last night I was skimming through my copy of Cicero's Letters to Atticus and found the 15 or so letters he wrote during his exile from Rome. If you know Cicero, or if you've heard me talk about him at all, you know that Cicero reached his lowest point in his career when he was chased from Rome by a political rival, a man he referred to as "Pretty Boy".
His name wasn't Clodius Pulcher for shits and giggles.
Cicero started his exile as noble as he possibly could. After all, he was the glue that held the Republic together. Surely Rome would rise up and demand his return, if only he waited long enough. The issue wasn't fixed quickly though, which made him begin to write to Atticus about the pain of losing his political position and the honors he had worked so hard to collect. The longer the exile, the more he slipped into depression. It was in this gradual descent into sadness that Cicero struck a chord with me. In ad Att. III.15, Cicero appears rattled and his famous control of language is gone. What we're left with is one of the best examples of Cicero's inner thoughts.
Time, far from relieving this heartache, actually increases it. Other hurts
grow less acute as they grow older, this cannot but increase from day to day
from the sense of present misery and the recollection of the life that is past.
I mourn the loss not only of the things and persons that were mine, but of my
very self. What am I now?
That last line hit me hard. Quid enim sum? "What am I now?" Cicero drops the royal we ("nos") and emphasizes that this is him. What is Cicero without Rome? I hadn't thought about it before, but this is the heart of why I've been struggling with this year. I've been a student for so long, and I was pretty good at it. What am I without school? What am I now? Cicero's depression was such that he didn't see any solution to his problem, in fact he eventually gives up completely. As a historian, I mark this moment as his lowest point. His letters get shorter and shorter, and eventually he writes to Atticus that he is "utterly destroyed" and has come to terms with his fate.
This is what he looked like when he was happy.
Then, all of a sudden, the next letter breaks the sadness. He's back in Rome and telling Atticus all about his triumphant return home. It's such a sudden break in the narrative that it throws me every time. Cicero rebounded. He reached rock bottom (in Thessalonika, no less!), thrown down from his nobility and stripped of everything possible, but he comes back. He returns to Rome and he never mentions his depression again (except when it was politically useful, which was almost constantly). His return marks a second life for him, a return to his highest status and a renewal of his energy.
And the birth of revolutionary Ad Campaigns
Now, I don't want to make it sound like I consider this "gap year" to be as traumatic as Roman Exile, but seeing him at his lowest, and knowing that he was on the brink of a second wind, Cicero reached out to me. Not with his hand. With his foot. He gave me the swift kick to the rear that I needed.
This one was pro bono
I may be out of school, but I've got a lot going for me this round. My thesis will be a great writing sample, I'm actually a Professor, and I know exactly what I want to do my doctoral research on. This may not be my lowest point, but it certainly isn't my highest. These applications will get finished, I will get through the wait, and I am going to be accepted this round.
Sing it, Ladies
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