DivingBoard

As the sun streams into my living room window on what promises to be one of those rare, beautiful L.A. days---a bit of rain followed by clear blue skies and sweet, crisp air---I fold my legs under a plush throw, gaze at the stack of grading I have to do, sip my warm coffee slowly and feel quite at peace.  Two months into 20-10 and I am feeling quite accomplished.  Finally, a chapter under my belt!  Yes, the first chapter is a daunting task for anyone.  While doing coursework, even before endeavoring to write a dissertation, I have already heard some stories of first chapter mishaps and heartbreaks, of taking more than a year to write, of never ever being satisfied with it, even after the diss is filed, or worse, of those who never finish because that first chapter never really materialized  In those days, while taking courses and managing okay, I quickly told myself: I will be in and out of grad school, 6 years max, no more. Exams, prospectus, advance, write, write, write then file. Like a targeted scud missile: efficient, not much collateral damage, hit 'em where it hurts.  Boom!

Well, as we all know, modern warfare ain't pretty, in fact it's jacked the fuck up.  And while I do not intend to diminish the gravity of the damage we inflict on each other while at war by making this comparison, I will say that writing this dissertation feels like going to battle, already bloodied and battered from the previous fight, every time I sit myself in front of my computer and place my hands on the keyboard.  Efficiency and time lines flew out the window while writing my prospectus and as I actually began to write---6 months after the trauma of my defense---every determination for a 6-yr plan was left stranded by the wayside like a cheap hooker, knowledge earned from coursework felt more like undiscernible echoes, like vague childhood memories, and pounding the keys to produce a word, a sentence, then a complete thought, felt like punishment, like pushing a boulder up a mountain or watching a big ass bird peck at my insides as I lay tied to a rock, only to endure the same fate the next day.  

Alright, alright, I am being a bit dramatic. But I say all this to show how manic one becomes while writing for hours on end, not uttering a single word, or seeing another real-live human for 12 hours straight, fueled by adrenaline and coffee alone.  Such was the experience of getting my first chapter in on time.  I must've looked like the town loon.  In fact, I swear I saw my walls vibrate that one time, at 4:10 in the morning.

Despite all this, when I came to school to put a clean copy of that chapter in my adviser's box, a wave of euphoria swept over me and I knew that no matter how hard things become, I will always know that I can produce.  Now, we're not even talking about producing a good chapter, whatever that means. We're talking about just getting thoughts down onto paper and making an argument that I, at least, believe in, and organizing disparate thoughts into something readable.  The good may come later in the form of another chapter or a new project altogether, but for now actually producing was good enough. It's winning the small battles that matters in the long run.