Survival guide

A few years ago when I was nearing completion of my course work in my doctoral program, someone suggested I check out a book that might help me prepare for the next leg of the journey: dissertation. The book is called Surviving Your Dissertation (Rudestam, Newton, SAGE Publications, Los Angeles: 2007).

This “comprehensive guide to content and process” offered everything from how to get started in your research to overcoming barriers. It even had a chapter titled, “Becoming an Expert While Controlling Your Own Destiny” -- now if that isn’t overselling, I don’t know what is.

No offense to the authors, but “controlling your own destiny” or any other aspect of the dissertation process is an impossibility. There are too many geniuses in the mix and too many rules for the doctoral candidate to have anything that resembles “control.” Control is a moving target. You have to just go with it.

There it is.

I think this is a legitimate “ah-ha!” moment. There needs to come a point in time in which the doctoral candidate surrenders to the process, acknowledges he or she is unproven and malleable, and becomes submissive to the constant rebuffs of a learned Committee and institution that dictates when the metal is ready for the maker.

I am there. After two years of hammering out a proposal that prompted the equivalent of cyber slaps upside the head “NCIS”-style, I may have finally reached that intersection where the light turns green. Now, I am idling. I have refueled. I have one stop to make before I can proceed: formal presentation of my topic.

I have only to get my three Committee Members to agree to a day and time for this formal presentation, and I will be able to step on the gas.

My research topic has a working title: “The Changing Communication Technologies in Grief Memoir.” I haven’t played around with it much, frankly, because I have been focused on putting each piece of this puzzle together to nail the key voices on the subject. They range from the phenomenal Elisabeth Kubler-Ross to Geoffrey Gorer to Terry Eagleton and Jessica Mitford.

They are names that, to most of you, should generate blank stares, but to anyone familiar with grief or literature theories, they are heavy hitters.

In any case, the point is, I have had sufficient positive comments (finally!) to get this project in the driving lane. Here’s the plan: Get the “road map” officially approved within the next four weeks (hopefully sooner than later). That means presenting the topic in a formal setting to my Committee, showing that I have command of the topic and a solid plan to explore it, and a legitimate question that will make a contribution to the Humanities.

That “green light” gets me on the right road. It means I can finally begin writing the paper that will explain how interesting grief memoirs like Isabel Allende’s Paula, C.S. Lewis’ A Grief Observed, Joanne Foley Gross’ Legacy of a Young Hero, and others, have risen to popularity in spite of the publishing industry’s feeble suggestion that memoir was of no interest to the general reading public.

More than that, the paper will demonstrate my findings in comparing new forms of “grief memoir” that have developed today through the use of the Internet. I’m looking at the growth of blogs, Internet sites or other electronic methods for memorializing loved ones. Are these newer tech methods legitimately “memoir”? That is the question.

I have renewed optimism that I can do this. I am going to fight to maintain that optimism, and will count on my friends to stick by me to see that I do.

In the meantime, I want to share a lesson learned on this dissertation journey for those who are thinking about taking it themselves, or who are perhaps already on the road as I am.

As I mentioned, I read Surviving your Dissertation. Yes, it was helpful. Yes, it mapped out the process for me, soup to nuts. But there were a few things missing in my edition so I am writing my own version. I am calling it “Staying Sane in the Dissertation Lane.”

Here’s my list of what you need:

A skilled hostage negotiator. Someone who can talk you off a ledge. Because for certain, there will be many moments you will want to jump off a building, a bridge, a cliff… You will need someone to be that caring voice that will remind you that you are worthy.

A comedian. Someone who you can go to for a guaranteed laugh because you will feel like crying. You will melt down. You will get riled up. You’ll need someone who has that talent to make you laugh when you feel like busting through a wall with your fist.

A masseuse. I put this one in here because it is a luxury that somehow should be a necessity in our lives, the way that bread and milk are always on our grocery lists. You will be spending a lot of time on the computer. Your muscles will scream. Your head will throb. You will need to take care of those aches, so you can feel good through all the agony.

A higher power. Whoever it is that you pray to or reach out to in your darkest moments, be sure to keep this one close. Because when all else fails you, this higher power will still be there. Believe. Be strong. And let go of the tough stuff. You’ll make it.

Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan

The sign reads: Bang head here

I have heard it said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result.

I know this is intended to be a humorous, lighthearted statement, but as a doctoral student, I am thinking this makes me certifiably insane.

After yet another mini-meltdown last week prompted by some harsh comments from my Committee that intended to be helpful, I immediately surrendered and vowed to walk away from this hideous scholarly process.

At some point, you just have to cut your losses and I am well past that deadline.

Still, here I am, wrapping up another Sunday marathon session of proposal research dissection and writing. Another Sunday I will never get back. Truly, this must mean I am insane.

But there it is. Something in me will not allow me to quit. Not today, anyway. The stumbling block this time? The section of the proposal in which I deliver a sound and convincing explanation of the relevant literature I have examined which sets up my research topic: The changing communication technologies in grief literature.

My idea is clear: To examine grief literature in its original and now multimedia forms to identify if the newer communication technologies have led to the creation of a new form of grief memoir.

I have read Kubler-Ross, Doka, Attig and Bowlby. I have identified relevant observations from de Certeau, Benjamin, Eagleton. I’ve read fascinating memoirs by Allende, Buckley, Glick, Didion, Lewis, and Pausch. I’ve even discovered a growing library of resources on the subject of online grief communities, memorialization and social network philosophizing.

If I am not there yet, I have got to be close.

Tomorrow, I head up to Newport for a face-to-face meeting with Professor 1 and possibly Professor 2. I think all this technological communication is somehow a barrier to human relation. In other words, perhaps my Committee and I need to see each other as human beings. Then, our communication may take on a form that leads to a sense of support and encouragement and a “working together.”

Isn’t it funny that a project focused on the effect of newer communication technologies should contribute to a challenge in communicating as human beings?

Don’t answer that.

Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan

Drop in the bucket

Have you ever heard someone tell a story about a trip they took or a spontaneous act that they just jumped in to do, and sat back in admiration and thought, “Wow. I want to do that!”

What’s stopping you?

When I was a teenager, I had a wide open slate of dreams. It’s what we do when we’re young. We dream about what our lives will be like, attaching specific details to each dream and feeding those dreams with the creativity of our imaginations. Then we grow up.

Responsibility seizes us.
Daily life develops into a ritual of requirements and tasks and obligations.
The world suddenly puts all these rules on us and, shockingly, most of us succumb. It’s unavoidable, right?

Not so fast, Spanky. Says who?

For some time, I have been hearing people refer to their “Bucket Lists.” It’s a reference taken from a Morgan Freeman/Jack Nicholson film in which two dying men conjure up a list of things they want to do before they “kick the bucket.”

Such a great idea. God I love how movies can inspire us sometimes!

Here’s a couple quick examples. I have a sister-in-law who did the “Penguin Plunge” a couple of years ago. Bucket List item, checked off. A coworker recently found herself on business travel in St. Louis, Missouri, just as this year’s World Series was about to begin. She needed a nudge (which I was happy to provide), and recognized this was a Bucket List item. Check it. Done.

I try to live my life with intention, and that means making the most of my days and looking back without regret over things that I “coulda, shoulda, woulda.” The times when I blinked and missed an opportunity to do something extraordinary, I remember.

Like when I was a freshman at Franklin Pierce College in New Hampshire and our men’s basketball team went to the NAIA Division 1 championship tournament in Kansas City, Missouri. A group of my friends decided to drive to KC for the game. What a wild idea! I was away from home for the first time in my life, making my own decisions as I pursued my college education.

Boy, did I want to go. I was an A student in my first year of college and making healthy choices to stay on a good path. I would have to miss classes if I went with the gang.

I blew it. I declined. Here it is 30 years later, and I still remember how disappointed I was for missing all the fun.

Let that be a lesson to me and to you, too. We don’t usually get a second chance to grab the brass ring. If something desirable beckons and there is no serious harm as a consequence, don’t think twice. Embrace the moment.

Since that pivotal college time, I have had plenty of other opportunities to tap my Bucket List. Looking back, I think I’ve done all right:

I have always loved horses and wanted to attend the Kentucky Derby. When two young male friends started talking up their intention to go, I jumped at the chance to invite myself along. Somehow, I found a way to get a ticket to a grandstand seat, mingled with the horses in the paddock before the race, and met some friendly people to watch the race with. Today, I can say that I experienced, first hand, the most exciting two minutes in sports.

Another time, I was sent to Salt Lake City, Utah, for my marketing job to handle public relations on an assignment related to the U.S. Women’s Bobsled team. When the team had finished its pre-Olympic practice runs, I was offered a ride in one of the sleds. I didn’t think twice.

This isn’t about being adventurous or doing bold things. It isn’t about spending whatever it takes to do something that puts you in debt and saddles you with more responsibility than you can comfortably live with.

This is about recognizing that sometimes life presents opportunities that are not planned or well timed. These moments just pop up. You can either take a pass, or you can listen to your innermost desires and decide if this is something that you really want.

American mythologist and philosopher Joseph Campbell said, “Follow your bliss.” He saw this not simply as a mantra but as a guide to individuals along the hero journey that we each walk in life.

“If you follow your bliss, you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living. Wherever you are -- if you are following your bliss, you are enjoying that refreshment, that life within you, all the time.”

Campbell was on to this Bucket List stuff a long time ago. He was in tune with the experience of life, and it’s the way we all should live.

If you’ve got a Bucket List, you are on the road to living life on your terms. You are out to really experience life. Seize those little gifts that come along. If you don’t have a Bucket List, here’s the thing to do:

Step 1: Get a Bucket (read: Get a Life!)
Step 2: Toss in all those ideas that tug at your imagination and ignite your passions and creativity.
Step 3: Keep your list close, to remind yourself that you have plenty of fabulous life experiences ahead.
Step 4: Stop following steps. Follow your bliss.

Question for Walking distance readers: What’s at the top of your bucket list?

Believe in miracles

miracle |ˈmirikəl|
noun
a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency: the miracle of rising from the grave.
• a highly improbable or extraordinary event, development, or accomplishment that brings very welcome consequences: it was a miracle that more people hadn't been killed or injured [as adj. ]: a miracle drug.
• an amazing product or achievement, or an outstanding example of something : a machine which was a miracle of design.
ORIGIN Middle English: via Old French from Latin miraculum ‘object of wonder,’ from mirari ‘to wonder,’ from mirus ‘wonderful.’


Miracles are those unexpected incidents when something remarkable happens that you never would have believed possible.

We hear about miracles on the news, such as when a person is found alive is found in the rubble of a disaster. They are extraordinary events that prompt us to assign credit to a higher power at work, bringing about the impossible when all signs point to a lost cause.

I am familiar with the term miracle because I have prayed for many of them through the years. I prayed for one when my sister Joyce went missing in the summer of 1984, and I asked God to send her home safe. I urgently prayed for one repeatedly when my brother John was seriously injured in a car crash and was left a paraplegic. In both situations, my fervent requests were not to be granted.

As tragic as those examples are, they did not shake my faith. I still believe in miracles, those God-given miracles that present themselves when you are not asking. They happen when you do not realize it. I have had those kind of miracles and I can attest that they are real and they are to be acknowledged.

My family did not recognize it as such at the time -- or possibly today does not realize it -- but what transpired during the four years that my youngest brother played college football here in our home state of Connecticut was nothing short of lifesaving. It was an undetectable transformation that in retrospect might be considered a small miracle.

It is possible that the seeds of this miracle were planted in the years preceding Joe’s college football career at Southern Connecticut State University, when he was a successful high school quarterback at Seymour High. I cannot be sure exactly when it really began. I can only say that it took root and began to grow over time in a way that gave my family something it desperately needed: something to look forward to.

A reason to get up. A reason to keep going. A chance to feel excited, happy, or tense and disappointed. Something to cheer for. Something to get you going, make you feel something, anything.

Yes, I know it sounds odd, but in some ways, my brother’s football career saved our family.

My opinion, of course. Some may say that is a dramatic overstatement. I say, perhaps you had to be there to know what I mean.

The quick family back story for those who are new to Walking distance: I grew up with five brothers and a sister. My brothers were all very athletic, participating in sports during our growing up years which my sister and I supported as spectators.

My sister was killed in 1984 in a random murder in our hometown. Joe was only 14 at the time, preparing to enter high school. Joe’s emerging sports success gave our family something it needed: a common, positive focus.

He had been a three-sport standout at Seymour High, so by the time Joe hit his stride as SCSU’s starting quarterback, our family routine was locked in. Weekends were all about football, getting to the games, cheering our hearts out, and celebrating (or commiserating) afterward until the next week’s game was looming and we shifted our focus to the next opponent to come.

There were road trips to Pennsylvania, upstate New York, and Ramapo, N.J. My brothers, father, and I made all the trips and occasionally, my mother would tag along, too. Often, several cousins and friends also turned out to follow the team when Joe was playing. We braved every meteorological element you could experience between mid-September and early December. Freezing cold, sleet, rain, fog, snow. We never missed a game.

Somewhere along the way, one of Joe’s teammates dubbed our contingent “Wolfpack,” and the name stuck. My brother Paul had T-shirts made up with Joe’s #18 and each of our names stitched on the sleeve. We took up a familiar spot in the bleachers of every game, sticking together like a pack of wolves to loudly cheer on the Owls.

At a time when we needed healing from the horrible taking of my sister, our family found joy in watching the youngest of our brood do admirable things on the gridiron. I cannot quote the respectable statistics my brother logged as Southern’s QB then, though I guarantee you my father and some of my brothers can cite chapter and verse of many highlights of many games through the years.

I usually shot about three rolls of Kodak film per game - that’s hundreds of pictures per week - documenting Joe’s career in hopes of capturing that time for future reminiscing. We each found our way to take to heart a piece of what was coming together for us as a family.

We needed it desperately, though individually, we could not have made this happen.

I had forgotten about the “Wolfpack” until recently. Thinking back, I am proud that we had that experience together because it reinforced the foundation of support and love that we have for each other.

Where am I going with this? I guess I wanted to share this observation because I think it was an extraordinary occurrence for my family to connect at a time when we each could have done exactly the opposite. It is bona fide evidence that God works miracles in his way, in his time.

Believe it.

Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan

Question for Walking distance readers: What miracle have you witnessed in your life?

Check the blog later this week for photos of the Wolfpack days...

The good to come

I promised a “life lesson” sharing experience here this weekend but I am going to ask your indulgence in letting me hold off on that story, so that I can share a new revelation while it is fresh in my mind.

I do so because I think it is important to be reflective in and about our lives (is that stating the obvious?) and when one of us has an “ah ha!” moment as Oprah calls it, I think it is meant to be shared.

So here it is: When you hit a road block or have a setback that keeps you from getting where you need to go, give yourself a little credit. Even in your darkest moment, you are strong. Even when you think you cannot keep going, somehow you can. You do it all the time.

I don’t say this because I am wise or excessively optimistic (or going through a terrible depression). I say it because the signs of your resilience and your intention to keep going are usually very subtle, but they are there. That, my friends, is what matters.

Here’s what got me thinking this way today. It was a gorgeous, unseasonably warm Fall day here in the Northeast and, in spite of having plenty of dissertation proposal writing yet to do, I knew that I had to get outside for a while. I decided to tackle the vegetable garden, cleaning up the dead plants and weeding the soil in preparation for next year’s planting season.

Usually, my husband and I wait until Spring to do this, even though it could be better for the soil to be tilled and fertilized before the snows of Winter hit. Still, it has never made it to the top of my “To Do” list this early, so I was really in the moment as I headed down the hill with my rake and bucket.

As I pulled up the dead plant remnants, I found more than a few tomatoes that were worth picking. I pulled out the wooden stakes and metal cages, making my way across our fenced-in garden, and found one, then another, and then yet another rather good-sized cucumber, just waiting to be picked.

The bucket started to fill. I kept pulling weeds, raking, thinking that our little garden -- which yielded some 30 or 40 jars of pickles, green tomatoes and salsa -- had been a decent project even if the corn I planted never made it to full size.

Then it hit me. What I was doing. Here it was, nearly the middle of October, and I was thinking of “next year.” That’s next year as in, next year, we’ll plant the corn in tight rows and plant more of it. Next year, maybe we’ll plant the pickling cukes in the front of the garden so they can climb the fence. Next year, we’ll be ready to get going when the danger of frost has passed, and our soil will be refreshed and waiting for the good seed.

It isn’t that I’m taking for granted I’ll be here next year. It’s that I expect it, and no matter what, there is a strength in embracing the unknown future. So the next time you are thinking of where to go on vacation next summer, or what to do to celebrate your birthday, or how to spend your upcoming weekend, take a moment and savor the thoughts. Live in the now, but expect the good that is yet to be.

Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan

Getting there

I’m keeping myself honest here. Since I put it out there, in writing, last week that I was working on wrapping up the final pieces of my dissertation proposal, I have to let you know whether I accomplished what I had hoped I would for the week.

Not exactly. But I did make progress. Much as I had hoped to have the last four (or is it five?) sections of my proposal in the hands of my wise Committee by the weekend, I managed to complete two of the key pieces left. Obviously, two is not as good as four, but it is much better than zero. I am soldiering on.

So just what did I move off my desk? The very difficult section called, “Methodology,” in which I have to explain to three highly educated, experienced scholars how I, a lowly doctoral candidate and yet unpublished scholar wannabe, will attempt to tackle a subject that has never been explored before. At least not in the way that I will explore it.

If you recall, I am delving into the topic of the grief memoir. I am looking at how communication technologies have evolved in use by authors who write grief memoirs. I’m talking about writers who publish books about a loved one that has died, to tell the story of their lives, in some portion. I am taking this research into the virtual waters of the Internet and film documentary to explore how those who do not write such grief memoirs are using blogs and film to tell the same kind of story.

I must share with you one interesting thing that is happening for me because I suspect it may be a common experience for doctoral candidates. As my focus and attention on this subject grows (through a disciplined effort at working on this material daily), I find that I am eager to get back to it whenever I am free of the “chores” of the day. In other words, when I am working at my job or taking care of household responsibilities or doing whatever it is that fills my days, I catch myself kicking around some part of the research.

The mind is a fascinating machine. As a writer, I know this, because I am always writing even if it looks like I am cooking, weeding, gardening, napping, or even sleeping. My mind keeps working the subject of my writing. That is what is happening with my dissertation writing. And I can tell you, it feels really good.

I’ll start a new work week tomorrow with new deadlines for my proposal draft. Next up is the section where I explain the relevant literature I will be working with in this project. It is another important piece that really must be clear, so I am slightly daunted but not discouraged.

I’m in a good mental place. I do think I am getting there.


Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan

Question for Walking distance readers: Have you seen any good documentaries that might be considered a grief memoir? I am thinking of viewing The Tillman Story as one example, but am looking for others. Along those lines, have you come across any blogs that might fit this topic? Please send me your suggestions.