The process of planning a wedding is like trying to wrestle a man-sized fish out of a river and onto the ground, from the past, through a telephone. Those who do not understand this have clearly never had the experience of planning their own wedding. It is not simply a matter of establishing a date and then going from there–the very date itself is not up to the people involved. One must ensure the church is available; if it is, then the reception hall must also be available; and if they both are (joy of joys!), one must ensure that it doesn’t fall on a public holiday or someone’s birthday, anniversary, or graduation.
Holy Cross
If one is being married in the Catholic church, as Thea and I are, there are unique challenges to address. There are classes that have to be taken–a requirement handed down by well-meaning authorities in an effort to reduce the number of divorces by reducing the marriage rate of couples who are likely to divorce. Of course, the public goal is to give couples the discussion tools they need in order to remain together. However, I posit that in actuality it just serves as a tool to dissuade people who are not serious. After all, who wants to sit through six months of dreary, aphoristic, bureaucratic, excessively religious claptrap if they aren’t absolutely devoted to their intended spouse?
But if planning a wedding is a difficult and tiresome endeavour, planning it whilst simultaneously applying to doctoral programs is inestimably worse. Between the phone calls to caterers, reception halls, chuches, ecclesiastical authorities, well-meaning (and not-so-well-meaning) family members, friends, acquaintences, honoured guests, bridesmaids, groomsmen, dress-makers, habadashers, hatters, and gift registries, one must also find the time to write a statement of academic purpose more detailed than one has ever heretofore done–and by a considerable margin. Whereas in an undergraduate or even a Master’s program a general statement of intent is acceptable for admission, at the doctoral level things are very different indeed. The result of this demanding necessity is that I am quite incapable of addressing the logistics of the wedding at the moment. Thankfully it is being handled by Thea. In December, I will be able to give it more mind; at the moment, I cannot even answer simple things like, “should we have it on a Sunday?”
The Organ at Holy Cross
When I looked over the successful applications of some of my friends who are currently in doctoral programs, I was surprised at the level of specificity which they stated as their doctoral intent. It was not merely an area of focus, but a single, narrow topic and, moreover, the particular avenues of research along that topic. It is the microscopic approach to scholarly intent which the Academy desires, and this is something which my current university has not prepared for me at all. My colleague Colly was as surprised as I was, and more than a little taken aback. He was relieved that he had decided to take a year off in which to read narrowly and formulate such a topic of enquiry. I, on the other hand, have less than a month to do the same.
But there are no tasks set me which I am not otherwise capable of addressing, and so the great read-a-thon began. Every recent article I could lay hands on through the library, Project MUSE, or JSTOR has been rapidly acquired and devoured. I have done my best to immerse myself within, and to try and comprehend, the current discourse in my chosen field. And I feel I have come out of it reasonably well-informed. I now know what I want to do: it will be a matter of employing the previous methods I have formerly employed (of using a philosophical lens to interrogate a piece of literature), but on a particular narrow topic in my focus area of medieval English literature (as opposed to Dante, Shakespeare, or Marvell, as I have previously done).
I have come out of the readings with a solid knowledge of the kinds of arguments that are currently being made–and with a degree of optimism about the direction of the academy. Some of the currently empowered theories are waning in their influence, whereas the approaches I more fully employ (History of Ideas, Philosophy, Religious Studies) are on the rise. The result is that I may be a very attractive PhD candidate for any school which is looking to remain on the cutting edge of scholarship. Conversely, if your particular interests are limited to the study of Derrida, Foucault, Kristeva, Butler, and the like, you have my sympathies. The ship of theoretical study alone has, I think, well and truly sailed. A new, interdisciplinary, cross-theoretical horizon beckons.
Whilst these two matters of great moment are ongoing, there is the tiny matter of my Master’s seminar and my poetry elective still to consider. With a paper to present today and a draft due in five days more, followed by two research papers (one for each class), I can hardly be said to be living easily. To put it simply, the weight of it is all very crushing. Sometimes, a fellow feels like he is being smothered, and it comes out in the ways in which I address things.
Mt. Pelion and Mt. Ossa
My father has been diagnosed with cancer again, and this time it will take surgery to remove it–surgery that will almost entirely certainly cost him his voice and leave him very sick for some time afterwards. Confronted with this amidst the other towering issues I must deal with–whilst running L.com and trying to plan for a future move to Virginia, Massachusetts, or North Carolina–I found myself utterly unable to compose myself properly. I still do not. I am neither sad, nor happy; not shocked, distressed, or particularly sympathetic. I am overwhelmed. There is no room for any other emotion. This autumn has seen me squashed under the weight of too many powerful forces: malice and deceit, two extremely difficulty and demanding graduate courses, a veritable mountain of doctoral application paperwork and scholarly self-examination/reconsideration, my father’s illness, my marriage in June, my job’s increasing demands, and my diminishing time in which to get any of these things done.
And yet, somehow, I have managed to continue on and meet all of the requirements I have been served, if only just. It is here, and only here, that I allow them to mix freely–where the manifold obligations can be seen as they are: a massive, heaving, growing pile, stretching high into the heavens–formidable and dauntless. Is it any wonder that I find it hard to smile? And yet, I continue to do so. I endeavour to remain pleasant, optimistic, and as kind as I can force myself to be. It is just another effort and, amongst so many others, what is one more?
