I may be an academic rebel
When I started this publication in May 2020, I wanted to learn more about graduate school and academia. I also wanted a place to share what I was learning as I learned it. Although I’m still not sure why, the fact remains that basic information about how academia works is notoriously difficult to find online.
If I could create a resource to help the next first-generation student wondering whether or not graduate school might be right for them while trying to answer that question for myself, that felt like a win-win.
I started this publication with a list of questions, and I didn’t know where to begin answering them. So I just started turning the questions into posts.
It was messy at first. After I started writing, I realized there were some questions that should logically come before others I’d already written about. Balancing the higher-level strategy questions (like how do you decide what to do with your life?) with the practical logistics questions (like what is required to apply to graduate school in economics?) is an ongoing challenge both in the context of this publication and in my own life.
After working on higher-level strategy questions throughout the summer, I decided on a bit of a whim to escalate from the courses I’d been taking online rather haphazardly (Philosophy and Statistics for Data Science at the same time, anyone?), to the list of math prerequisites for graduate school in economics.
Looking back, I know why taking formal math courses seemed like a good idea at the time. After researching the sheer number of courses I would need to complete to even apply to an economics graduate program, I was overwhelmed. It would take years to complete those prerequisites with a full-time job, and like most human beings that are not Benjamin Button, I’m not getting any younger. So I found an asynchronous online Calculus 2 course at a university, enrolled as a non-degree seeking student, rented my textbook, and jumped right back into integrals after seven years off.
In August 2020.
While socially isolated and working more hours than ever at my full-time job.
During a pandemic.
It was brutal.
From August to December 2020, effectively all I did was work and calculus.
There were hours of assignments each week, and since the point of taking the course was to begin crossing graduate school prerequisites off the list, I couldn’t just pass: I needed to make an A. I didn’t write much of anything here or on my personal blog for five months. I also didn’t sleep much.
I’m not sure what I expected when I jumped back into a five credit hour Calculus 2 course as a 30-something while working full-time, but I didn’t expect it to be as bad as it was. I don’t mind math, but the reason I took this course (and if I continue on this path, the reason I’d be taking the next four math courses I need) is economics. Spending so much time on trigonometric integrals each week that I don’t have time to read, listen to podcasts, or write about economics anymore at all seems fundamentally counterintuitive. I was jumping through hoops to get into a graduate program in economics… but the hoops weren’t even in the field of economics.
The entire semester, I had the same thought on repeat: there has to be a better way.
I’ve learned a lot since starting this publication.
One of the things I have not learned is how people work full-time and take a full-time online course load at night. If you were doing that in 2020, you are a rockstar.
One of the things I have learned is that I’m not entirely sold on jumping through off-topic hoops for the next three years, so I can earn the right to jump through on-topic hoops for three or four more.
Put simply, I may be an academic rebel.
This summer, I discussed this publication with a friend of mine that already has a graduate degree. We talked about a few topics she could write about about for this publication that may help someone that hasn’t been to graduate school, like the application process, tuition and fees, and other logistics. (Effectively, things she wish she knew before she went to grad school.)
Recently, she mentioned a post she was writing about academia as a potential candidate for this publication. The post was titled, “Why You Should Go to Graduate School.” And my first thought was…
Absolutely not.
To be fair, a title that evokes a visceral reaction like that is probably a good title. My friend is also a good writer, so I’m looking forward to reading the post when she shares it. But I immediately knew it wasn’t something I would share here on the Aspiring Academic, because I fundamentally disagree with the idea that everyone should go to graduate school.
Wait, isn’t this publication about academia and graduate school?
It certainly started that way. But at its core, this publication is here to ask a much more fundamental question than whether or not you or I should go to graduate school:
Is there a better way?
Fair warning: if you have the audacity to ask that question in an academic context, you may be an academic rebel too.
As the first person with a bachelor’s degree in my family, graduate school was never a given for me. I like to learn, but I was raised to think about formal education as a means to an end. I went to college so I could get a job.
While people also go to graduate school in some fields so they can get a job, that “means to an end” mentality does not apply to all graduate degrees. I still have a lot to learn about graduate school and academia at this point, but I have learned that some people don’t consider formal education a means to a job outside academia. Some people consider academia itself the end goal: they want to stay in academia, and make a career out of learning and helping others learn.
Honestly, that sounds very interesting to me.
I simply have no idea how to get there from where I am now.
The most common path to an academic career across all the disciplines I’ve studied this year is what we’ll call the direct path. People take their bachelor’s degree straight into a PhD program (or into a Master’s program then straight into a PhD program). They may take a year off between undergrad and graduate school for a pre-doc research role at or adjacent to an academic institution, but they get back on the direct path fairly quickly. Then they graduate with a PhD, possibly spend some time in a post-doc role, and ultimately land that elusive academic job offer: a career learning and helping others learn.
At least, that is how the direct path into academia is supposed to work.
Unfortunately, some fields seem to have a supply problem on their direct path. Put simply, there are a lot more PhD graduates each year than there are jobs for PhDs each year. This creates the opportunity (or necessity) for a post-PhD pivot out of academia. While I’m sure more can and should be written on that subject, I have been able to find content and resources for PhDs considering a post-PhD pivot this year.
Content and resources for people considering a pre-PhD pivot — advice for those of us that never got on the direct path into academia in the first place — is significantly more difficult to find.
So, I created this publication. I researched graduate school and academia in general, the prerequisites I would need to study the subject I’ve historically been most interested in (economics), and how I could fill the gaps in my academic resume. Then, while spending hours doing trigonometric integrals this fall in an effort to fill those “gaps”, I remembered something crucial.
Just because I wasn’t on the direct path to an academic career for the past decade doesn’t mean I spent it living under a rock. Formal academia may assign no value to the experience I have, but that doesn’t mean that I assign no value to it. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know a lot about academia and graduate school, but I know a lot that would be useful in graduate school.
First and foremost, I know how to teach myself things.
I originally planned to use this ability to teach myself the things I need to get into graduate school, but that begs an obvious question that took an embarrassingly long time for me to remember to ask:
Can I just teach myself the things I want to learn in graduate school?
Like most questions this publication was built on, I don’t know the answer to that question yet… but I think it’s a question worth asking. Like most questions this publication was built on, it also leads to more questions:
If I can teach myself the pile of prerequisites to get into graduate school, shouldn’t I also be able to teach myself the things I actually want to study?
While self-study may not translate to a graduate school admissions committee, is proving aptitude to study a subject my ultimate goal?
Or is studying that subject my ultimate goal?
Do I believe anyone or anything has a right to tell me what I can and can’t learn?
Why does formal academia assign zero value to work experience outside academia?
Don’t diverse backgrounds lead to better research questions (and answers)?
Is there a way we could quantify or describe work experience in a standardized way so value could be assigned to it in an academic application?
Does anyone really think the ability to memorize trigonometric substitution formulas is more useful to an aspiring economist than 8 years of finance experience?
If so, who thinks that?
If I were going to ignore the indirect hoops and teach myself the things I want to learn directly, where should I begin?
What resources could I use?
In a nutshell:
Is there a better way?
If not, how do we make one?
Going into 2021, I apparently have more questions than ever. So academic rebel or not… I guess I’m not going anywhere.
