Redefining Self Worth
“Everything I do is judged/And they mostly get it wrong/ But oh well/ ‘Cuz the bathroom mirror has not budged/ And the woman who lives there can tell/ The truth from the stuff that they say/ And she looks me in the eye/ And says would you prefer the easy way?/ No, well OK then/ Don’t cry.”
~Ani DiFranco, “Joyful Girl” lyrics
The paper cut went unnoticed as my fingers anxiously ripped through the envelope.
“Dear Ms. Schwab: We regret to inform you that”
I didn’t bother to read the rest. And even if I wanted to, the swell of tears forming on the rim of my eyelids would have prohibited me: Ph.D. rejection letter number one – one down, three to go. It was just my kind of luck that I would receive the letter a few days before presenting at my first academic conference (NeMLA in Boston, MA).
“What a joke this is going to be,” I thought, looking at my puffy damp, mascara-smeared eyes in the bathroom mirror. “Intelligent people go to conferences.” After that letter, I felt anything but smart. It was the first time in a long time that my faith in my self worth had been rattled.
Luckily, a few close friends Maddie, Betty and Millie wanted to support me by taking the weekend off to also attend the conference. I knew they’d be a much-needed distraction during this stressful time.
On Friday evening – after eating (too many) bowls of New England clam chowder, sight seeing and attending panel discussions – my friends and I went to Harvard Square to celebrate my panel acceptance (which was the following afternoon).
As we drank our pints of Sam Adams Red Brick winter brew (found only in Boston!), I looked around the bar at the surrounding Harvard students. My discouragement seeped through my seemingly confident exterior as I considered that these people were all intellectuals that I might never be.
I told my friends about the rejection letter.
“Breathe, Schwab. You are an intellectual. Look where you are. You’re too hard on yourself,” Betty said.
“You don’t want to be this type of intellectual,” Millie chimed in, referring to the “pretentious” attitude of the bar and some of the day’s panel presenters.
“Each school is going to look for different qualities,” Maddie added. “Plus, the recession is going to affect how many applicants that can actually accept. Especially for any state schools you applied to.”
As my friends further attempted to boost my glum spirit with kind words and more beer, I couldn’t help but wonder how I could feel self-assured about my abilities one moment, and then so insecure the next because of someone else’s disapproval.
Throughout the night, I looked at my friends and reflected on how uniquely intelligent they each were:
Maddie, the newspaper editor, is grammatically savvy (at least when it comes to the rules of the English language); Betty, the elementary school band teacher, is eternally “down-to-earth” and can calm a person no matter how high-strung s/he is; and Millie, the first semester Master’s English literature student, is able to talk profoundly, yet practically about any “uncomfortable” topic that deviates from the norm.
Considering that none of us might ever be considered Ph.D. material, much less “Harvard material,” I questioned why it did not matter to them, and why it did so much to me. How could I see my friends so clearly, and myself so blurrily?
On Saturday after another long day of attending panels it was finally time for my panel on Art and Nineteenth-Century American Literature. After I (and the other three members) presented, an attending professor from Virginia praised my ideas and asked if she could use the outline of my thesis for teaching her Master’s class.
It was the first time since the letter that I felt my self worth replenished. But, it wasn’t because another scholar justified that my ideas were creditable; rather, because after presenting my paper, I realized that it doesn’t matter what “kind of material” people think I am because I know I’m worthy.
Maybe I will receive three more rejection letters that tell me I’m not the Ph.D. kind of intelligent. But maybe, that shouldn’t matter. I know what I am and am not good at, what I care and do not care about, and where I want and do not want to go in this life.
And a piece of paper is not going to change that.
Posted in A scribbling woman's Limbo
May 11th, 2009 at 10:36 am
Editor, OBSERVER:
After reading Ms. Schwab’s commentary “Redefining Self Worth” from March 15, I took a count of how many times she used personal pronouns. I was astounded to learn she had used them 53 times in a 652 word article. That means roughly every 12th word in her essay was a personal pronoun.
I was amused because this was beyond conceit to be that egotistical and to also have it in print for all to see.
Her piece was its usual self-serving and self-aggrandizing verbiage of deep-seated insecurity, psychological and physiological happenings. Those minute and trivial details of her life and relationships are comical, in that we have all gone through similar times and events, albeit not being quite so self absorbed.
Her writing reminded me of Thackeray’s “Contributions To Punch,” particularly “Papers by the Fat Contributor.” In the “Papers” the fat man droned on about minute happenings, occurrences, food, haberdashery, and his minimal adventures. It was considered satire and was read with that in mind.
Ms. Schwab, unfortunately, hasn’t that much sense of humor or she would realize we already know she’s a sensitive, vulnerable but wonderful human being.
Youth will be served.
A. GIZEK,
Fredonia
May 11th, 2009 at 10:36 am
All I can say is, 1) why single out this column? Most are much worse, much more self agrandizing and self centered and self promotional. 2) Nobody has gone through the changes and experiences of this author…at least according to her. 3) Take “womens issues” out of the picture, and how many columns could she even write? And I have more news, most of these so-called womens issues were addressed in the late 60’s. Sorry, but what goes on with women in the 3rd world isn’t much more important that what goes on in general in the 3rd world..starvation, genocide, torture…you know….HUMAN issues! I’m always frankly amazed at the “life changing incidents” of a 20 something college student who apparently has no clue how good she has it.