Easter eyes

Happy Easter to the void. What a great time of year, and what a great period of celebration. I love Easter for so many reasons. 

I was a little anxious about this one though, as a couple of days before, I was due my first ever eye test. 

I had noticed over Christmas, when I was driving, that my husband could read road signs a lot earlier than I could. It had me a little worried as I’d always thought my eyesight was perfectly normal. However, find that sometimes, after a long day of close reading, for example, it takes a while for my eyes to be able to focus on something far away. Because of this, I went to the opticians (found a free eye test using http://www.moneysavingexpert.com).

I rocked up. Sat in the blindingly white waiting room (I reckon it’s all part of the test), and attempted to read any sign I could see around me. I then had a preliminary test in the world’s smallest office, which involved air being blown on my eye and lots of machines being used. Was relatively amusing, although I was disappointed I didn’t have to read any letters. 

Sat back out in the waiting room and was called into anther tiny room for the letter reading stuff as well as some very close-up examinations – not one for those who are protective of personal space. As I looked at the letters on the wall, I tried so hard to make my eyes see them. Of course, it didn’t make a difference, but I at least passed the stage where you are allowed to drive. 

Result was, I possibly need a low strength lens for driving and for church or things requiring long distance reading. No serious problem. Phew. 

However, it got me thinking. I’m staring at words on pages or on a computer screen constantly for around 6/7 hours a day. Apparently, there is no research to say either way if long periods of close reading will affect your eyes long term. It just takes a little time for your eyes to readjust (this is what the optician told me). However, I would recommend, for those who are slightly worried about it like me and who like a bit of preventative medicine:

- give your eyes rest. If you stop to think, think with your eyes closed. Massage them lightly with your fingers. 

- give your eyes practice. If you need to go somewhere in the department, as you walk down the corridor, focus on the exit signs on the doors furthest away from you. Or if you’re in an office, look at the small writing on posters once in a while. 

- give your eyes time. Of course they’ll take a while to adjust after being close-up to pages/ screens for the whole working day. So on the way home, keep looking from short distance to long, focusing on different objects. 

As for me, no glasses as yet – have only shopped around one opticians and found it quite an exhausting experience. Will persevere another day. 

Isolation or the Occasion for Joy

In a postgraduate context, you can choose either to throw yourself into the PGR community, sometimes losing focus on your own work as you consider others progress or you choose to isolate yourself and get on with your own work at the expense of social interaction and expansion of your own knowledge.

I certainly haven’t ‘thrown’ myself into postgrad events and groups, but I do love my office. I love constant contact with people and, through the way that each of those typing away in the same room as me is at a different stage of their PhD, I love the reminder that I am starting something which has an end point.

But more than this, working with and amongst others means that you can feed into other people’s research and invest in them. One of my Chinese colleagues often asks me simply to decipher her supervisor’s handwriting. More than this, with my British heritage, my academic past, and my current stage in life, I can contribute effectively to other researcher’s lives and work. I watched a British film with a fellow researcher in order to point out to her the specifically british elements of its production - place names, swear words etc.

This is huge. If you’re reading this and you’re a researcher, I’d plead with you to not just focus on your own work, but to look at those around you, to attend conferences, and to actively engage with how your personal viewpoint can help someone else see something they might not have seen otherwise.

What a joy, to be invited into the work and research of friends and colleagues.

My First Conference

So I wasn’t feeling well last week (hence the lack of post…I apologise), but managed to get along to my first conference as a PhD student. I was armed with packs of tissues, bottles of water, and enough paracetamol to last the week. I was expectant, excited, and nervous. What if I didn’t understand anything? What if it was a waste of a day? Why can’t I go back to bed? were the questions spinning round my mind as I walked towards the registration desk.

Lo and behold, a name-tag appeared with my name on it – good sign that my online registration had actually worked – and I was given a bad of goodies. When I say goodies I mean: the programme of the day, a list of abstracts, a list of contact details for the other delegates, a notepad and a pen! To be honest, the prospect of a free pen is a great incentive for any Brit to attend an event, but adding a free notepad in there too…well this stationary-loving student was hooked and ready for the day.

Lots of small talk ensued straightaway. Talking to everyone about their research, I realised I hadn’t actually got round to doing what I told you all to do in my post  “defining your doctorate”, and so I blundered through a couple of explanations before getting it down to a succint but curiosity-rousing one-liner. After a cup of tea and more small talk, the bell rang, we were summoned to the keynote, and the day began.

To be honest with you, there was nothing on the programme related to my study. Even when papers had ‘translating’ in their title, they were using the word for the sake of a catchy title rather than indulging my research interests. However, this being said, I found the whole day extremely interesting. Having never been to a conference but being involved in the organisation of one in May, I learned a lot – just from observation – about the running of the day. Having never presented at a conference but being in the middle of preparing a paper to present in June, I learned a lot about the practicalities of giving a paper (note to self: DO NOT USE POWERPOINT EVER… OR COMPUTERS….OR ANY TECHNOLOGY). Furthermore, I felt as though my knowledge of so many different topics was widened just by my being sat for 20 minutes listening to someone who loves what they’re talking about.

I was glad to be out. Of course. My nose was streaming, my head was pounding, my muscles were aching. But I really enjoyed the day and am looking forward to the next conference! 

Birthday meat

So Saturday night was a birthday party. The birthday girl was someone I’d met in January, and who studies in my PGR office most days. She’s Romanian and her English is astonishing (-ly good). Dinner was at a meze (mezza?) place, and so save a lot of fuss (and food-envy), we ordered platters to share. What ensued was basically an evening of meat – sooooo much food was on those platters that we had to challenge each other to finish them!

Why am I telling you about meat, about dinners out, about platters and challenges?

Because on the table were people from Italy, Spain, Chile, Hong Kong, Malta, Taiwan…and I’ve forgotten a couple! I love that I was able to go out with new friends; that these friends are from all over the world; that through my PhD, I get to see a little of these incredible countries, their cultures, and their people. Moreover, I have the privilege (there’s that word again) of enjoying the night’s conversation in my mother tongue, while everyone else spoke a second or third language.  

It was a lovely social side to my research and I hope that as my project progresses, friendships will grow too.

Privilege and Dust

Last week I had the privilege of reading some extraordinary writing.

My PhD involves literature from the 1800s, and so I often find myself in the obscure parts of the library whenever I visit. But last Thursday I went to the ‘special collections’ section – that little-known and little-seen area located in the basement of my uni library.

As I descended the stairs, the smell of books got stronger. The dust started to make me sneeze. I put my bag in one of the lockers provided at the door, realised I didn’t have £1 to lock it and so, trusting that thieves wouldn’t think to go to the ‘special collections’ section, I continued into the room. Before I got there though, I saw a sign informing me that only paper, pencils and laptops were allowed. I haven’t carried a pencil in my bag since I was 11, and I’m more of a note-scribbler than a typer, so I proceeded into the rare books section armed with only a notebook.

After a touch of confusion with the man in charge (who let me borrow a pencil), I found out how to find the books – fill in a piece of paper for each book, he disappears, and then reappears with the requested books. I sat down at the table to begin my day of reading.

Hours later, with tears still streaming down my face, I left with the feeling of privilege.

All day I had been reading diaries and letters of people who were in an uncertain context, who were working because of conviction and integrity, and who were brutally honest with their writing. I had been reading words and pages that I doubt many have read. I had been reading glimpses of someone’s world, a world they’d scrawling in notebooks, not necessarily thinking that some emotional PhD student would one day be weeping over them. I read a wife’s description of her husband’s final hours on a boat to Mauritius. I read a lonely man’s lament after his wife died in Sierra Leone. I read a traveler’s sighs as he pondered over the potential futility of his work.

I have been reading for weeks, but only dry words and emotionless records. On Thurday I felt like I was reading people, lives. I read something almost tangible.

Perhaps it’s just the dust, perhaps it’s just the fact that the books are yellowed and fragile, but that day felt like my PhD might actually touch something precious.  

What a privilege. Bring on more reading.

So what are you doing?: defining your doctorate

The ultimate question. Simple, on the face of it. A natural query. In fact, I heard it a lot this weekend as we had a big family gathering with aunts and uncles and cousins and second cousins (or first cousins once removed, whatever the definition is).

How are you? Fine, thanks!
What are you up to at the moment? I’ve just started a PhD actually…
Oh right!….So what are you doing? *Silence, hesitation, racking my brains for a starting point*

How do you explain a potential three years of research, which happens to be in a very specific field which you’re only just beginning to understand after reading half the library’s books on the matter? How do you put your entire research proposal - with all its concepts and assumed knowledge – into a simple answer for someone who knows nothing about the subject?

I haven’t specified until now, but my PhD is in Translation Studies. If your response to that was, ‘Huh? You can do a PhD in that?’, then that sounds pretty much like every other response I’ve had. This answer obviously isn’t adequate to the ‘what are you doing’ conundrum. I need something tangible, understandable for the common man.  

I therefore go a bit more specific, I give them something recognisable: ‘I’m doing a PhD in Translation Studies and French Literature’. This seems to satisfy most. ‘Oooo, French, that’s complicated’. This makes me laugh – they still know nothing about my project, but they are quite relieved to know that at least it involves something tricky like a foreign language. Sometimes, however, they press me. ‘What specifically are you doing then?’ – they have recognised that ‘Translation Studies and French literature’ is a very broad subject matter and actually want to know more.

So here comes my little spiel. I’ve got it down to a sentence now, a reasonably short sentence that actually tells people what I’m doing without chucking them in the deep end of translation theory and french colonial criticism. Conciseness is a beautiful thing, and it helps me focus on my project. If writing a conference paper, or an article, or a thesis, I’ve had the incredibly simple but useful advice that you need to be able to summarise your argument in one sentence. If you can’t, you don’t understand your own argument. I think this is the same with the question that others pose.

Therefore, as someone asks you rather bluntly what you’re focussing your time and effort on, what you are interested in, what your next three years are going to look like, you get to refine your project even as you answer. You get to tell yourself again what your goal is, what your conclusion will involve. Take that opportunity. Refine the sentence to tell them, but also to keep yourself on track of your work.

I think what’s hard about this particular question is that often the hearer doesn’t want to hear the full answer. They want to voice an interest, they want to figure out what you do all day (yep, I read, I constantly have to tell people that at the moment most of my day is spent reading!!!). They want to be interested. But they’re not going to fully understand the spiel that you spout, let alone the actual project itself!

Of course you won’t be able to tell them every miraculous detail that fascinates you about your project, but you can give them something to latch on to, perhaps something to arouse curiosity, and something to answer the question.

‘So what are you doing?’

What’s your sentence?  

Nod nod nodding – supervision meetings

Last week I had my first official supervision meeting for my PhD. I started my research in January and, before now, have only had a couple of ‘check-ins’ where I’ve made sure I’m doing what my main supervisor thinks I should be doing…

However, official supervisions have started and are a different beast altogether. Gone are the pleasant conversations and nice half-hours of idea-tennis. Gone are the relaxed one-to-ones between the chilled out ‘I don’t know what I’m doing’ student and the ‘don’t worry about it’ supervisor.

In their place I found myself sat on the edge of my seat for an hour, rapidly writing pretty much whatever came out of my supervisors mouths (I have two), and nodding along eagerly, whether or not I actually understood what they were saying.

There is a danger with this nodding. At the time it seems to buy you credibility. The nodding makes you feel a peer, makes you feel like you can do what they do. Nodding makes you feel invincible.

But when you come away from the meeting – with your research plan covered in pen marks and scrawlings, the margins full of names of books by authors you can’t pronounce, let alone spell – the nodding turns to a fast shaking of the head. You have to summarise the meeting and document it. You have to write minutes.

I don’t know what the system is in other unis, but in mine, you have to give an overview of the discussions had and the action plan at the end of the meeting. You have to then submit this to your supervisors so that they can see you’ve understood their instructions (!), and then submit it to the university as evidence of your supervisory meetings.

The waiting game begins therefore, as I have submitted my minutes to my supervisors. Will they see through the zealous nodding, or have I been able to understand enough of the meeting that I can actually blag my way through this process?…Only time will tell.

We’re gonna need some boundaries

What a week. It’s been manic. I’m sure you have those weeks too; where you feel like the one thing you ought to be doing has just been pushed under the carpet as the world closes in around you, demanding your time and energy. This week – shhhh don’t tell my supervisors – it’s felt like my PhD wasn’t just a secondary element to my week, but maybe a senary or septenary element. Whatever you call it, it was not a priority.

You see, the beauty of doing a PhD is that your time is flexible. You can use the day however you want. That friend who’s only around for an hour this afternoon before they fly abroad for two months, you can meet! The doctor who’s only free for an obscure ten minutes on a Thursday before lunch, you can see! You can do work in the evening. You can do tutoring or teaching in the afternoon. You can sleep later in the morning (I’ve been ill over the past few days, so this in particular is a lovely luxury).

However, as well as being an advantage, this flexibility of time is a complete pain. Everything (ok, ‘everything’ may be a bit melodramatic but it’s good for emphasis) that needs to be sorted out lands on your plate precisely because you’re flexible! This week, for example, our car broke down about half a mile away from our home which meant that our breakdown didn’t cover it!! I eventually had to be towed to the nearest garage which was terrifying – have you ever been in your car steering while you were being towed? Furthermore, we’re buying our first house and wowee there are a lot of things to do once an offer is accepted…I don’t even know what half of it is for… Plus, to top it off, I had toothache which is worrying when your husband has had a couple of ‘episodes’ at the dentist recently and felt a bit flu-ey too (a lot of self pity being dished out as you can tell)!

Mid-week, I actually voiced the words, ‘When can I do work?!’ in my postgraduate office.

On a new Monday, as I write this and reflect on a crazy couple of days and a frustrating lack of work, I don’t think the problem is entirely the PhD. I come in the office in the morning and leave in the evening. I supposedly treat it like a job, not taking much home with me. Perhaps I should treat my time working in the same way – somehow sacred and set apart from my life. Obviously there will be times when my phone will ring and I will have to answer it. And there will be times when I need to take a couple of hours to stand outside my car with a takeaway cup of tea whilst a mechanic shuffles around under the bonnet. But perhaps I need some boundaries. Perhaps I just need to put the phone on silent from time to time.  

 

Books and books about books

This will be a short one today folks as lots of things are going on chez moi.

Take this fable as a nugget of advice, a priceless piece of guidance in the abyss of postgraduate research tips.

I was travelling home from London a few weeks ago and was gearing myself up to read a good chunk of a novel on the way (Megabuses do afterall provide journeys long enough for more than a couple of chapters). It goes without saying that this novel was for my research. As I got past the laborious introduction, written by some ‘critical thinker’, I soon realised that what I had in my hand, and therefore for the rest of the journey, was not the book I wanted to read, but a book about the book. I struggled on with it, finding parts genuinely interesting (thankfully), and attempting to figure out the plot of the novel from its criticism without much success.

Lesson learned. Make sure to get the book. Not the book about the book. 

Book-tower territory

You may have wandered into that sacred section of a library before, and seen a pleasant-looking desk by the window. You may have observed that this particular desk would be a good place to read whatever book you may have been carrying, or you may just have wanted to kill some time at said location.
 
However, when you approach the desk you begin to see an invasion of books. Not rough, hap-hazard mountains, but sleek, neat, deliberate, towers of books marking the territory of the person who has scrawled a hand-written note on some half-torn sheet from a notebook: do not move.
 
You wonder how many of those books could be useful to someone else as they sit there, one on top of the other, their exposed spines fading in the sunlight. It is sad. It always has been sad. Can someone really need all those books?
 
Maybe you know where this is going…a confession, an admission. I have become part of that species that marks their territory with book towers. Before me now, I see books that I haven’t even got round to reading yet, neatly(ish) stacked, ready and waiting for my curious eyes to glance at them and to weigh their worth. Do I feel ashamed? No. Enlightened? Somewhat. And, indeed, relieved.
 
I’m getting through a number of books a day and due to a recent over-ambitious shopping trip (where the vegetables on both handlebars and weighing my bag down started to have a noticeable effect on the bounce of my bicycle tyres), I am extremely glad not to have to travel back and forth with books (and indeed, so is my back).
 
Instead, I wander into the library, past the book-towers of fellow researchers, find a book, peruse it, take it out, not stuffing it in an already at-capacity rucksack of apples, but leaving it 
free,
with its friends,
in its tower,
on my desk.