Signs

This week, a bright and charming young woman from my graduate school alma mater came out to interview me for the school newspaper. We sipped cappuccinos and she asked questions.
It was a strange feeling. All the years of struggle to get through the degrees and here I was watching them in the swirl of foam in my cup.

It was a good thing.

Kind of like the capstone project at the end of a course.

There is a certain amount of PTSD that any Doctoral candidate goes through because you are always hanging by an academic thread and at the mercy of a committee that is at the same time very involved and yet exquisitely aloof. I have been "Dr D" as the students call me for a year now, and I still wake up in that proverbial panic.

Here is an interesting coincidence.
The same day that I was interviewed and was thinking- OK- it must be real- if they interview and the fact that you are a PhD is in print, they can't take it back, right?- my students showed up with a bouquet of flowers for me marking the end of the quarter.

How many more signs does it take, Dr D?
Breathe in
Breathe out
Move on.