So, this is what they meant when they said grad school will run my life. Having listened to various friends over the past year or two who were in the midst of their studies, I had a vague concept of what I was getting myself into. Some exact quotes from those friends could be mistaken for a prisoner trying to get early parole on good behavior:
"Dude, I can't take it anymore."
"It never ends; no matter what i do, it never ends."
"Life? What life? All i do is read."
"This is stupid."
I tried to take their words to heart, but most of it was lost in the collective pool of self-pity (no offense, to any of you whom I am referencing; but it was pitiful). I resolved that I would not subject others to melodramatic tales through a misconstrued sense of neurosis. Alas, here I am: felled by my own sword of judgmental thoughts.
Grad school truly does run your life. If you come across a day when you don't have anything to do, you're a fool. There is always something to do. When you force yourself to take a two hour break (or write a blog post...) in the middle of the day because you can't stomach another ounce of superfluous academic jargon, you are overcome by feelings of guilt that keep you from experiencing any meaningful sleep.
And to think that I actually paid money to have this "opportunity"! Crazy, crazy fool, Castle.
I say all of this, but I hope you all know that, although I complain, I absolutely love it. I love the feeling of purpose and responsibility that accompanies the onset of each day; I love the endless challenge of finding a better source or mode of argument than the previous half-dozen; I love the perpetual attempts at placing the specific within the context of the whole. It's fun. I want to compare it to a puzzle, but it is not. Maybe a word jumble. A jumble that gives you 85 random letters and asks you to build the best possible sentence from those letters. Your first attempt utilizes 68 of those letters, and although you may be proud, you can't stand to see the other 17 go to waste; you know there is a better possibility out there. So you scrap what you have and start at the beginning- not because you must, but because it's a challenge you know you can win, or at least perform at a higher level of success, with the right amount of time and proper perspective.
i think this best states how I feel about my program. Yes, it is constant. Yes, it never ends. Yes, it is challenging. But it is these things because I choose it to be- i want it to be. The biggest obstacle I face is not the intensity of my program. It is trying to be content with the best effort I can possibly muster within the allotted time.
Frick.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
From the land of ( insert random nationality).
It is the end of week three of my time in Edinburgh. There have been several "really?!" moments thus far and it is my goal to share a few of those with you in this post. I'll start by clearing up some common misconceptions about Scotland that I have found as falsities or half-truths.
It is a widely held belief (as provided to us by King Edward Longshanks, and relayed to us by Braveheart, some 700 years ago) that Scotland is full of Scots. While this may be the case in towns such as Dundee, Glasgow, and Aberdeen, it has not appeared to be the case in Edinburgh, especially at the University. Much like the road trip game "Woody", it has become popular practice to shout "SCOT!" and hit your nearest companion each time you positively identify a student as Scottish. In my particular program, there are 3 Scottish people out of 3 dozen. What then, you may be wondering, are the major nationalities represented in the International and European Politics program? In order:
1) German
2) American
3) Chinese
4) Dutch
5) English
I know, it is a shame. I wanted nothing more than to immerse myself in thick Scottish culture in efforts to master their unique and highly attractive accent. Alas, I have a better chance to come back speaking like Albert Schweitzer than Ewan McGregor.
It's not that you can't find authentic Scots if you truly want to- you need only look in the hub of all things political, social, religious, and academic: the local pub. It is no exaggeration to say that the majority of Scottish culture takes place in a pub. From football games to Prime Minister speeches; from a night out with the boys to a business transaction, it happens in a pub. The depiction of the average Scottish man being bearded, sweater-donned, and relatively jolly is, I am happy to report, true. You can credit several factors for this, but I would start no further than the pub. There it is easy to pick out the faux from the pack. The faux sits in a booth rather than at the bar; he orders Corona instead of Carlsberg; his hair is gelled and his face is clean; he is the modern, urban import from London- not your blue-blooded Scot. You could relate this to American sports fans: he's the guy in the crowd reading a book during the 3rd quarter, or the one wearing the green Cubs jersey to a Yankees-Rod Sox game. In other words, he is trying to hard. Just stop. Everyone knows you don't know what you're doing.
This is the Scottish Faux.
That rant was a little off topic, but it needed to be said.
Ok, the second misconception involves the weather. Now, this might be a temporary or uncommon occurrence, but since I arrived 21 days ago it has rained or drizzled less than a half-dozen times. It has been beautiful. The weather is extremely dynamic, by which I mean to say that it can be dark gray in one half of the sky and light blue with white clouds in the other half. And due to the angle of the sun, you never have the mid-day hang; the sun transitions seamlessly from the morning glow into late evening ambiance. The combination of all these factors makes for an absolutely stunning picturesque skyscape. Aside from the torrent wind (which is similar in some ways to the winds off Lake Michigan), the weather has been perfect. The temperature reaches into the upper 50s during the day and falls no further than mid-40s at night. As I said, this may be very temporary, as I have already heard people speak of there being less than 5 hours of sunlight in the winter, but as for now I am loving it.
The third thing is not so much a misconception as a personal realization. We have been preached to by our professors that there is a key difference between American and British methods of academia. In America, we are taught to be original in our thinking; to venture outside the box to form a new perspective on a topic. Having spent my entire life in the American education system, I can vouch for this. In contrast, the British system cautions against going anywhere near the edges of the box. As my program director Sean Malloy put it:
"You are allowed to stand safely within the confines of the box and state one of two things: How great the box is! Or, how terrible the box is. If you run across an original thought in doing so I either offer you my congratulations or my ire, because you are by all means a liar."
With the upsurge in personal confidence and sense of self-appreciation, I am now armed to face the trying weeks ahead. While it will take some adjusting, I am in a way relieved by the lack of importance placed on originality. For all you post-modernists out there, here's a victory for the good team: the team that believes in standards of quality. AKA- not your team.
That is all for this time. I hope I have shed some light on the realities of Edinburgh, at least as interpreted by me (take that as you will). I hope everyone is doing well and I look forward to hearing from you all. Cheers.
It is a widely held belief (as provided to us by King Edward Longshanks, and relayed to us by Braveheart, some 700 years ago) that Scotland is full of Scots. While this may be the case in towns such as Dundee, Glasgow, and Aberdeen, it has not appeared to be the case in Edinburgh, especially at the University. Much like the road trip game "Woody", it has become popular practice to shout "SCOT!" and hit your nearest companion each time you positively identify a student as Scottish. In my particular program, there are 3 Scottish people out of 3 dozen. What then, you may be wondering, are the major nationalities represented in the International and European Politics program? In order:
1) German
2) American
3) Chinese
4) Dutch
5) English
I know, it is a shame. I wanted nothing more than to immerse myself in thick Scottish culture in efforts to master their unique and highly attractive accent. Alas, I have a better chance to come back speaking like Albert Schweitzer than Ewan McGregor.
It's not that you can't find authentic Scots if you truly want to- you need only look in the hub of all things political, social, religious, and academic: the local pub. It is no exaggeration to say that the majority of Scottish culture takes place in a pub. From football games to Prime Minister speeches; from a night out with the boys to a business transaction, it happens in a pub. The depiction of the average Scottish man being bearded, sweater-donned, and relatively jolly is, I am happy to report, true. You can credit several factors for this, but I would start no further than the pub. There it is easy to pick out the faux from the pack. The faux sits in a booth rather than at the bar; he orders Corona instead of Carlsberg; his hair is gelled and his face is clean; he is the modern, urban import from London- not your blue-blooded Scot. You could relate this to American sports fans: he's the guy in the crowd reading a book during the 3rd quarter, or the one wearing the green Cubs jersey to a Yankees-Rod Sox game. In other words, he is trying to hard. Just stop. Everyone knows you don't know what you're doing.
This is the Scottish Faux.
That rant was a little off topic, but it needed to be said.
Ok, the second misconception involves the weather. Now, this might be a temporary or uncommon occurrence, but since I arrived 21 days ago it has rained or drizzled less than a half-dozen times. It has been beautiful. The weather is extremely dynamic, by which I mean to say that it can be dark gray in one half of the sky and light blue with white clouds in the other half. And due to the angle of the sun, you never have the mid-day hang; the sun transitions seamlessly from the morning glow into late evening ambiance. The combination of all these factors makes for an absolutely stunning picturesque skyscape. Aside from the torrent wind (which is similar in some ways to the winds off Lake Michigan), the weather has been perfect. The temperature reaches into the upper 50s during the day and falls no further than mid-40s at night. As I said, this may be very temporary, as I have already heard people speak of there being less than 5 hours of sunlight in the winter, but as for now I am loving it.
The third thing is not so much a misconception as a personal realization. We have been preached to by our professors that there is a key difference between American and British methods of academia. In America, we are taught to be original in our thinking; to venture outside the box to form a new perspective on a topic. Having spent my entire life in the American education system, I can vouch for this. In contrast, the British system cautions against going anywhere near the edges of the box. As my program director Sean Malloy put it:
"You are allowed to stand safely within the confines of the box and state one of two things: How great the box is! Or, how terrible the box is. If you run across an original thought in doing so I either offer you my congratulations or my ire, because you are by all means a liar."
With the upsurge in personal confidence and sense of self-appreciation, I am now armed to face the trying weeks ahead. While it will take some adjusting, I am in a way relieved by the lack of importance placed on originality. For all you post-modernists out there, here's a victory for the good team: the team that believes in standards of quality. AKA- not your team.
That is all for this time. I hope I have shed some light on the realities of Edinburgh, at least as interpreted by me (take that as you will). I hope everyone is doing well and I look forward to hearing from you all. Cheers.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Autumn Leaves, or Fun in a Graveyard
I found this awesome little cemetery kind of off the beaten path and was pissed that I didn't have my camera with me. So, I waited for the next sunny day and ventured back. It was definitely well worth it. I hope you enjoy the sights of Greyfriar Cemetery accompanied by the sounds of Tony Bennett.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
End of the beginning.
It has been a long two days. It is beyond belief that a mere twenty-six hours ago I was sitting at a vacant gate in Columbus, waiting for the wrong plane. I had my worries about travelling. To be honest, the most stressful part of the preparation process has been thoughts concerning these two days of connecting flights, security checks, VISA clearances, strip searches (maybe not, but a guy can dream), and B&B bookings. Figuring out the logistics of my time in transit has been enough to send me into episodes of extreme anxiety and uncertainty, but I never envisioned any problems arising in my own back yard of Port Columbus! Yet there I was- gloriously awaiting the arrival of a phantom plane in the wrong corridor, full of the giddy excitement characteristic of a pre-adolescent schoolgirl.
Once I managed to find the correct gate, there were no issues to speak of the rest of the trip. Amazingly, I made it through Detroit and Amsterdam without any trouble or significant incident. I may be the first repressed twenty-three year old idealist to admit such defeat/disappointment. One thing worth noting was the uncanny ability of the three middle-aged men I was privileged to sit next to on the respective flights to slyly work their heads onto my shoulder as they drifted into a deep and somewhat enviable slumber in the air.
Any delusions of uniqueness owing my American citizenship and adorable Midwestern accent were proven false before I touched ground in Edinburgh. On the flight from Amsterdam to Edinburgh, I met an awesome dude…. from Traverse City, MI who attended undergrad in Montana. He is a post-grad student studying Archeology and who idolizes the University of Michigan, poor soul. We spent most of the time disagreeing on the varying degrees of uselessness attained by Charlie Weis and Rich Rodriguez. And by disagreeing I mean to imply that he was a reluctant student of my doxology. He’ll come around.
I was greeted by my taxi driver who happened to be what I can only assume as a lifelong alcoholic. He was sweet as hell. For the duration of the twenty minute ride from the airport to my accommodation I was treated to an impassioned speech on the quality of certain beers and lagers, and their superiority over other beers and lagers. Tommy, as this heavyset middle-aged Scot instructed me to call him, was in the anger stage of the grieving process over Scotland’s national football/soccer team being booted from World Cup qualification by the Dutch. It was at this point I decided not to mention where I went to undergrad and managed to appease him by the simple comment of “a small town in west Michigan.” Tommy was my first experience with a true Scottish accent. I became embarrassed asking him to repeat himself after a few attempts at the term “tram system,” so I relegated myself to the old smile-and-nod technique passed down by generations of hopeless tourists.
It was a little before 9am GMT (4 am EST) when I arrived at my B&B. They had been swamped from the recent Edinburgh festival and current influx of international students, which prevented me from checking in to my room until a bit after 2:30 pm. During that span of time I decided to wander downtown to check out the sites and begin to get my sense of direction. This failed, as I was lost by 10 am. Around noon I found a sanctuary from aimless walking: a Starbucks. As tiring as my adventure had become, it was well worth it. The scenery and architecture remind me of a surprising mix of Vienna, Salzburg, Philadelphia, and New Orleans.
The surrounding hills and Castle remind me of Salzburg.
The endless sense of awe and recognized historical significance recalled feelings of Vienna and Philadelphia.
The narrow streets, tight building construction, and shops that appeared from nowhere are familiar to those in New Orleans (without the urine stained doorways, shady alleys, or depressing stench).
I crossed North Bridge twice, trekked the Castle mount, and circumnavigated the Scottish parliament. It was an unparalleled five hours.
I returned to the B&B around 1:30 (30 mins before my scheduled check in) and was told to wait until they told me my room was ready. At this point I was running on about five hours of accumulated sleep over the previuos 48 hours and had just walked God knows how many kilometers/miles. AKA: I was tired as eff. As I mentioned before, I was not allowed into my room until a little after 2:30 pm. I was frustrated, tired, and smelled like old plastic. It was not long before I was asleep.
Trying to acclimate to GMT, I forced myself to wake up around 7pm. Showered and crisply dressed, I found my way back to City Centre. Looking for a good meal, I entered a Scottish pub (Tommy would be proud). They don’t serve food in Scottish pubs. Oops.
I was here, wasn’t I?! No need in insulting the nice Scottish bartender (who coincidently had AMAZING hair… I had no chance) so I ordered a pint out of pity. After asking her for a recommendation, Chloe and I settled on a Kronenbourg Lager. One lesson I learned the hard way is that in Scotland, it is a sin rivaled only by mass homicide and child abuse to spill a lager.
I had just sat my glass on my strategically located table (not too close to the door, within a quick step’s reach of the bathroom, and clear vision of both the TV and the rest of the pub) when I went to sit down and my knee bumped the table. Several ounces of the liquid fell from the brim of the glass. Ashamed, I asked Chloe for a few napkins. Pitiful, Castle. Pitiful.
So here I am, in an authentic Scottish pub with a stack of moistened napkins to my right, my computer in front of me, and a second Kronenbourg on the left, writing this account of my first thirteen hours in Edinburgh. It has already been an unforgettable experience. I find it hard to accept that I can be so richly blessed with opportunities such as this. Today has been a long time coming. I hope that the days and weeks to come offer countless more memories and life lessons. Here we go.
Once I managed to find the correct gate, there were no issues to speak of the rest of the trip. Amazingly, I made it through Detroit and Amsterdam without any trouble or significant incident. I may be the first repressed twenty-three year old idealist to admit such defeat/disappointment. One thing worth noting was the uncanny ability of the three middle-aged men I was privileged to sit next to on the respective flights to slyly work their heads onto my shoulder as they drifted into a deep and somewhat enviable slumber in the air.
Any delusions of uniqueness owing my American citizenship and adorable Midwestern accent were proven false before I touched ground in Edinburgh. On the flight from Amsterdam to Edinburgh, I met an awesome dude…. from Traverse City, MI who attended undergrad in Montana. He is a post-grad student studying Archeology and who idolizes the University of Michigan, poor soul. We spent most of the time disagreeing on the varying degrees of uselessness attained by Charlie Weis and Rich Rodriguez. And by disagreeing I mean to imply that he was a reluctant student of my doxology. He’ll come around.
I was greeted by my taxi driver who happened to be what I can only assume as a lifelong alcoholic. He was sweet as hell. For the duration of the twenty minute ride from the airport to my accommodation I was treated to an impassioned speech on the quality of certain beers and lagers, and their superiority over other beers and lagers. Tommy, as this heavyset middle-aged Scot instructed me to call him, was in the anger stage of the grieving process over Scotland’s national football/soccer team being booted from World Cup qualification by the Dutch. It was at this point I decided not to mention where I went to undergrad and managed to appease him by the simple comment of “a small town in west Michigan.” Tommy was my first experience with a true Scottish accent. I became embarrassed asking him to repeat himself after a few attempts at the term “tram system,” so I relegated myself to the old smile-and-nod technique passed down by generations of hopeless tourists.
It was a little before 9am GMT (4 am EST) when I arrived at my B&B. They had been swamped from the recent Edinburgh festival and current influx of international students, which prevented me from checking in to my room until a bit after 2:30 pm. During that span of time I decided to wander downtown to check out the sites and begin to get my sense of direction. This failed, as I was lost by 10 am. Around noon I found a sanctuary from aimless walking: a Starbucks. As tiring as my adventure had become, it was well worth it. The scenery and architecture remind me of a surprising mix of Vienna, Salzburg, Philadelphia, and New Orleans.
The surrounding hills and Castle remind me of Salzburg.
The endless sense of awe and recognized historical significance recalled feelings of Vienna and Philadelphia.
The narrow streets, tight building construction, and shops that appeared from nowhere are familiar to those in New Orleans (without the urine stained doorways, shady alleys, or depressing stench).
I crossed North Bridge twice, trekked the Castle mount, and circumnavigated the Scottish parliament. It was an unparalleled five hours.
I returned to the B&B around 1:30 (30 mins before my scheduled check in) and was told to wait until they told me my room was ready. At this point I was running on about five hours of accumulated sleep over the previuos 48 hours and had just walked God knows how many kilometers/miles. AKA: I was tired as eff. As I mentioned before, I was not allowed into my room until a little after 2:30 pm. I was frustrated, tired, and smelled like old plastic. It was not long before I was asleep.
Trying to acclimate to GMT, I forced myself to wake up around 7pm. Showered and crisply dressed, I found my way back to City Centre. Looking for a good meal, I entered a Scottish pub (Tommy would be proud). They don’t serve food in Scottish pubs. Oops.
I was here, wasn’t I?! No need in insulting the nice Scottish bartender (who coincidently had AMAZING hair… I had no chance) so I ordered a pint out of pity. After asking her for a recommendation, Chloe and I settled on a Kronenbourg Lager. One lesson I learned the hard way is that in Scotland, it is a sin rivaled only by mass homicide and child abuse to spill a lager.
I had just sat my glass on my strategically located table (not too close to the door, within a quick step’s reach of the bathroom, and clear vision of both the TV and the rest of the pub) when I went to sit down and my knee bumped the table. Several ounces of the liquid fell from the brim of the glass. Ashamed, I asked Chloe for a few napkins. Pitiful, Castle. Pitiful.
So here I am, in an authentic Scottish pub with a stack of moistened napkins to my right, my computer in front of me, and a second Kronenbourg on the left, writing this account of my first thirteen hours in Edinburgh. It has already been an unforgettable experience. I find it hard to accept that I can be so richly blessed with opportunities such as this. Today has been a long time coming. I hope that the days and weeks to come offer countless more memories and life lessons. Here we go.
Friday, August 21, 2009
In the beginning...
Hello hello!
I have attempted blogging in the past but that effort quickly crashed and burned. I hope this current blog maintains some form of lifeline with you all during my year in Scotland.
Whether you are a loved family member, close friend, past acquaintance, or respected nemesis you will be missed throughout my term at the University of Edinburgh.
Until we meet again, I pray that this blog serves as an adequate form of communication.
I can't make any promises relating to the frequency and consistency of my postings, but I can tell you that I will try my best to keep you up to date on any significant occurrence from the UK. It'll be easier to stay motivated knowing that there are people actually reading these entries, so please leave comments if you could (whether it be to say hello or to harshly criticize my writing/life; a response of, "that was pathetic" is also acceptable).
As it stands now, I have (finally) received my VISA, which has allowed me to buy a plane ticket! Woah dang, it's starting to feel real. There's not much more prep needed before I head out September 10th, so I might be resorted to... studying? We'll see if I can pry myself away from Guitar Hero for long enough periods to be useful.
Once again, thank you for your friendship and support. There is no doubt in my mind that I am able to have this amazing opportunity because of the influence you each have had in my life. I look forward to sharing my experiences with you all in the coming months.
I have attempted blogging in the past but that effort quickly crashed and burned. I hope this current blog maintains some form of lifeline with you all during my year in Scotland.
Whether you are a loved family member, close friend, past acquaintance, or respected nemesis you will be missed throughout my term at the University of Edinburgh.
Until we meet again, I pray that this blog serves as an adequate form of communication.
I can't make any promises relating to the frequency and consistency of my postings, but I can tell you that I will try my best to keep you up to date on any significant occurrence from the UK. It'll be easier to stay motivated knowing that there are people actually reading these entries, so please leave comments if you could (whether it be to say hello or to harshly criticize my writing/life; a response of, "that was pathetic" is also acceptable).
As it stands now, I have (finally) received my VISA, which has allowed me to buy a plane ticket! Woah dang, it's starting to feel real. There's not much more prep needed before I head out September 10th, so I might be resorted to... studying? We'll see if I can pry myself away from Guitar Hero for long enough periods to be useful.
Once again, thank you for your friendship and support. There is no doubt in my mind that I am able to have this amazing opportunity because of the influence you each have had in my life. I look forward to sharing my experiences with you all in the coming months.
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