This Was a Terrible Idea!: Developing Your Research Topic

Before majoring in Communication Studies and working towards the goal of becoming a teacher, I wanted to be a photographer. When I started community college, I took all the photography courses available and dreamt of traveling to foreign countries in my pursuit of becoming a successful war photographer. During that same period, I can also remember having an interest in owning my own business. I knew I wanted the business to revolve around art and build a community centered around accessibility. One day, whilst walking my dog, I landed on an idea! What if I open an art gym?

The idea was wild! It would be a center built around various mediums of art with a photography studio/darkroom, painting studio, digital media center, a large kitchen with multiple appliances, or even a podcast studio. This would be an accessible center, where individuals pay a monthly subscription to utilize the space and its materials. I thought it was a winner; however, I figured it would not be possible to accomplish this goal until I was older.

A few years later, I was catching up on one of my favorite YouTubers: Casey Neistat. In his video “368 The First Episode” Neistat introduces his viewers to his new business idea he’s launching with fellow creators Dan Mace and Sam Sheffer. The central idea for the business is building a space for fellow creators to congregate and work on their creations. I was shaken to my very core! I love Neistat and his mind-blowing creative endeavors, but dude… that was my idea; I just hadn’t acted on it. This made me think, maybe ideas are like people. If you don’t give them the right amount of attention, care, or support they deserve, they’re more than likely going to seek it elsewhere.

During our time as graduate students, we are constantly on the search for new, relatable, or contemporary topics to write about. For some of us, especially during our first semester, we might gravitate towards the safer topic or maybe the one we feel is inherently familiar. Perhaps in the back of our mind, however, we’re holding onto another topic – one not as established and maybe a bit on the wild side. Should we let these traits stand in the way of our possibilities? Our fears might cause us to believe that maybe our ideas are not scholarly, serious, or ambitious enough – that these trivial thoughts are mere amusements we fidget with while walking our dogs. The truth is, it’s in these mundane thoughts that some of our most brilliant and exciting ideas unfold. The real question is whether you decide to act on them.

I recently watched a TedTalk titled “Let Curiosity Lead” where speaker Yara Shahidi talks to her audience about our unique curiosities and how she has allowed her own to freely guide her ambitions as an actor, producer, and scholar. Rather than regulate our curious minds, Yara compels us to take advantage of our many interests and let those catapult us towards whatever aspirations we may have in life. In her TedTalk, Yara states:“But also, I’d go as far as to say all of us juggle multiple interests, passions, and jobs. Yet there comes a moment on our paths where we’re expected to get serious, to find out one thing, stick to it. We’re told that our multiple areas of interest that we are equally drawn to are incompatible. And hit with that all-too-familiar, ‘Are you sure about that?’(3:50)”

For the longest time, I thought I wasn’t grounded enough as a scholar – that I wasn’t being consistent with my interests. During my B.A. my term papers jumped from analyzing the rhetorical function of colors in the TV series The Handmaid’s Tale, to studying personal and academic rapport between teachers and students. Even during my M.A., I studied various topics like parasocial relationships, female comedians of color, or courtroom perceptions and the ethics of defense attorneys. It wasn’t so much that I became bored with the topics I chose, rather I hold a plethora of interests and never want to tie myself down to one distinct area of focus. I began to feel a bit spontaneous compared to some of my other cohort members who were honing their specialties in media, cultural, or organizational studies. What was I going to do when it came time to start working on my thesis?

If someone asked me what I was doing for my thesis, would I like my answer? I have a hard enough time telling people what Communication Studies is, let alone informing people what I do in life. In past seminars, I’ve had the privilege of learning from scholars like Kimberlé Crenshaw or Sara Ahmed about the significance of intersectionality. Understanding not just through our race, gender, or sexuality but also through our other intersecting identities (such as what roles we play). This helped my come to the understanding that each of our intersecting identities are integral to the telling of our story and who we are at this moment in time. If we shouldn’t regulate our interests, perhaps we shouldn’t set strict parameters around what we say we do.

“I mean, think about how many times we ask each other the question ‘what do you do?’ Which is really a proxy in my mind for a much more pressing question, ‘who are you right now?’ Because what we do is only a fraction of who we are. And this culture of heralding expertise means that are curiosities are often mislabeled as distractions (4:24).”

So, when it came time for my thesis, I chose a topic that projected who I am right now: someone who’s currently interested in writing about media studies and who has a thirst to get back to her old roots in photography. When it comes to what we want to write about as scholars, at the end of the day we should choose something that matters to who we are now; something that will never exhaust you; something that you want others to know about and find impactful.

If you are struggling with your topic, brainstorm by making a list of possible ideas. Allow your curiosities to flow freely and remove any fears of topics you think are insufficient. Sometimes, while making your list, you’ll find patterns throughout. If it seems that one idea or focus is being repeated or stands out more than others, it might be beneficial to pursue it as a topic. Remember, however, research topics are in continual motion and are influenced by our on-going research. Don’t be afraid of how your topic may alter over time; instead embrace this natural step of your topic’s developmental process. Remember, this is not the finish line for your ideas or interests; save these ideas for later application because even when we graduate from this institution, our identity as scholars isn’t removed from who we are. Rather, it remains by our side as a part of our intersectionality.

By Simone Mingua-Lopstain

AI: Friend or Foe?

There is an iconic image from the Terminator film series in which a T-100 style killing machine’s chrome foot crushes a bleached human skull as it makes its procession toward ending the human experience. This is what comes to mind when I think of AI and the type of harm we set ourselves up for when we carelessly turn our lives over to the digital gods of our new age. I am not the only one. Governments are facing the prospect of AI tools with a mix of fear and skepticism that presents AI as a threat on par with weapons of mass destruction. Not quite as dire but with similar urgency, faculty have taken up arms against this new threat, rallying against the use of AI tools, fearing that intellectual pursuits will be replaced by blind faith in what an AI servant can reproduce.

I was once convinced that most AI tools needed to be banned on campuses. The margin between helpful and hurtful seemed too broad and the benefits too costly. As students we already struggle with how to research and write effectively. The reality is that the coalescence of cloud-based computing and the exponential growth of intelligent algorithms is not going anywhere; the wider adoption of AI tools is now a part of professional development, and more awareness is needed to mitigate new methods of cheating. 

I am familiar with the allure of taking shortcuts in my studies. In high school I had to conduct and write an interview with someone who lived through a pivotal event of the 20th century. I knew I was not going to find anyone. I also knew this topic would be easy to plagiarize. I subsequently found an online interview with an army veteran and used that to model fabricated responses. Having access to a search tool and a thesaurus allowed me to craft something that not only got me an “A” but also awarded me praise from my teacher. While I can’t prove why others cheat in classes, I see a direct comparison to using AI tools today. We all want to be efficient, use our time effectively, and create successful outcomes in our graduate careers. So, the desire to find shortcuts often seems like a necessary part of successful outcomes. 

Today it is so easy to simply log on to a chatbot like ChatGPT and, with a few simple queries, ask it to generate writing we can copy and paste into our assignments. This process takes seconds, and it is important to consider how these tools find information. Use of AI tools like ChatGPT and other Large Language Model (LLM) based chatbots take what they can find on the internet and compile answers directed towards the user’s needs. If you haven’t experienced these tools, I recommend you do. Some AI tools cite sources; however, many do not.

As a creative writing major this is especially fraught for me since I am pursuing a career predicated on the difficulty of blending art with techniques of writing that could be replaced by AI tools programed to potentially (and quickly) mass produce creative works in minutes rather than years. While not necessarily plagiarism, this gray area opens questions about who has done the work and, therefore, who owns it. If I use cloud-based software to help me write a best-selling novel or screenplay for a hit movie, the argument could be made that the work is not equally or entirely my own. How did the AI assistant create the work, was the information “borrowed” from sources found on the internet? How do I know that the AI program didn’t use techniques like patch writing? From where did the ideas originate? Who owns what I am now presenting as my own work? While platforms like ChatGPT currently “transfer” ownership of content to the users that created a prompt, the implication of transfer implies that the item generated at one point was owned by the company that produced the tool.

The bottom-line with ChatGPT and other AI tools is that we must be careful. APA guidelines not only require you to give a narrative explanation of how you used the AI tool but that we need to also create a reference entry (https://apastyle.apa.org/blog/how-to-cite-chatgpt) while explicitly stating that the information you reproduce is accurate. Often, ChatGPT assumes that the information it finds is accurate even when it is not. 

The cost of ChatGPT and AI tools is another concern. Currently ChatGPT provides a basic subscription for free but requires users to pay a minimum of $20 a month to use the latest and most accurate version of their chatbot GPT-4. The cost can be further expanded if you want to use other tools they provide like Dall-E (for AI art) or purchase custom chatbots available in their store. Then there are the countless services built from OpenAI’s technology which often require subscriptions to use. One example is https://you.com/ which offers student discounts and more tools for much less than ChatGPT. Their service integrates a search engine and shows you where the information comes from in a numbered style “citation” system with each query. I am not endorsing You.com as an alternative, or even for my fellow graduate students to use, but I do endorse the playful exploration of the tools out there. It is much cheaper to pay $6 dollars for a frolic through the AI wilderness than $20. Plus, you get 10 daily image generations for free allowing you.com to create masterpieces like these:

As AI tools become more prevalent, so will tools to detect their use. The level of accountability of our graduate level research is rising as fears about AI driven plagiarism garner more scrutiny. Just because I don’t get caught today doesn’t mean that my work won’t be discovered as plagiarized or fabricated. While not always a crime, the use of AI could lead to consequences that limit personal and professional opportunities. 

By Anthony Shemaria

The Reverse-Dunning-Kruger Effect

On April 19th, 1995, McArthur Wheeler robbed two banks in broad daylight. He made no attempt to disguise himself, even flashed a wide smile at one of the surveillance cameras. Every nightly news station in Pittsburgh, which is where the crimes occurred, led with a story about the robberies, complete with a photo array of still images of him robbing banks with a cheese-eating grin on his face. Within an hour, McArthur was identified, and authorities were pounding on his door. He was in total disbelief.

“But I wore the lemon juice!” he cried.

Apparently, McArthur thought that if he rubbed lemon juice all over himself (which “stung,” according to the account he gave police), security cameras would be unable to see him. Lemon juice made for great invisible ink, thought McArthur–why couldn’t it make a person disappear as well? To test this theory, our guy even took a picture of himself pre-robbery, relaying to investigators he didn’t show up in the polaroid–who knows what he photographed, but it certainly wasn’t himself.

Some of you–especially those in psych programs–may already be familiar with this fantastic tale. It’s an incident that led researchers Justin Kruger and David Dunning to write their seminal paper on what is now known as the “Dunning-Kruger effect.” The objective of this study was to find out why certain people–often spectacularly–overestimate their abilities.

Now, the reason I find this fascinating isn’t just because McArthur is a silly goose for thinking lemon juice would make him invisible; it’s the fact that folks like this often display all the confidence in the world, despite having a low level of knowledge and skill. What fascinates me most, though, is that the reverse seems to be true as well; people who are actually competent (meaning they have the required knowledge and skills to succeed in their chosen field) often underestimate their ability.

For me, there is a personal element involved: I–like many in advanced degree programs–have a case of imposter syndrome. I often feel like a fraud. I don’t trust positive feedback. I attribute any success I might have to pure chance. There must have been some kind of mistake; I simply don’t belong here. That isn’t what inspired me to write the post, though. What made me want to write this post is the fact that there’s so many students–especially grad students–that suffer from the same issue.

As a writing consultant in Fresno State’s Graduate Student Success Center, I have the great privilege of working with a group of fellow MFA students. Our discussions are centered around constructing our theses. It has been a wonderful experience. However, I noticed a pattern among those students, especially those who had just arrived in the program: when discussing their nascent theses, nearly all of them told me they didn’t really know what they wanted to do. That they felt lost. Then, one by one, they proceeded to tell the group pretty much exactly what they wanted to do, often even knowing how they might achieve certain elements. 

There was one student where this phenomenon was quite pronounced. When I asked what their thesis might be, they hemmed and hawed, repeating again and again that they didn’t really know, that they hadn’t even thought about it. When I asked a follow up question, they laid out an ambitious, yet totally attainable, skeleton for their thesis. When I pointed that out, they shrugged, and went back to being unsure.

This is something I’ll call “the reverse Dunning-Kruger.” The RDK, if you will. As someone who helps graduate degree candidates write, I see a lot of students working through various stages of their master’s degree. I see this RDK effect a lot. Before a session even begins, a student will tell me how bad they are at writing with an ashamed look on their face. Once we begin going through the actual document, it is almost never as bad as they make it out to be. In fact, most of the time, the writing is very solid. We all have room for improvement–including myself, and I’m in a writing program–but these students underestimate their abilities, often rather spectacularly. 

The truth is, most of the students who probably need the most help are the ones who aren’t asking for it. Or, they aren’t pursuing an education at all, because they can rob banks while covered in lemon juice. My point is: if you see yourself in any of the above students, take a step back and check in: Are you giving yourself a fair shake?

As I said, we all have room for improvement, and it is good to know our limits and seek out opportunities to improve. I can almost always help a student make their writing stronger; but it’s important to recognize the strengths that already exist and realize there’s a reason you are where you are right now. Without that recognition, you might talk yourself out of valuable opportunities. 

The McArthur’s of the world are very, very real. What’s so frustrating about them is their level of confidence. They often seem unbothered and undeterred, even when they are receiving valuable advice. I want that kind of confidence! I want to be unbothered! However, honest self-appraisal is key to achieving goals. There would be no reason to work hard if we didn’t think we could improve. The key to honest self-appraisal is to be honest. Acknowledge what needs work, but don’t underestimate your abilities, or downplay your achievements. It’s time to get over that RDK.

By: James Morrison

Dismantling the Stress of the Impending Semester and End-of-Summer Sadness

Photo credit: Blackzheep

As graduate students near the end of summer break, they may experience emotions ranging from stress and apprehension to anticipation and readiness for life to return to the buzzing activity that punctuates the academic semester. While some may welcome the return to normalcy, others (myself included) may be hit with the gloom and blues that come with parting from summer’s inherent magic: warm nights lit up by orange sunsets; nature working in tandem with pollution to create ironically beautiful canvases; the contagious sense of freedom and brevity transmitted by children and educators out of school. The perfunctory sense of returning to reality can leave students feeling dread and anxiety, polluting the last weeks of vacation as we brace ourselves for impact. Rather than let ourselves be seduced and indulgently drawn in by the sadness inherent to passing milestones and closing seasons (at least theoretically ‘closing’ since the heat and sun are here to stay for quite a while longer), there must be a way to meet these transitions with grace and hope. 

Although it is true that the semester brings with it more activity, responsibilities, and stress, it also means that campus will once again be teeming with student life. There is a certain sense of rebirth as the silent hallways and seemingly liminal library aisles once again fill up with students in their scholarly pursuits, regardless of what those may be. This rejuvenation can be infectious, as it propels graduate students back into the momentum of academia because they are surrounded by their peers, providing the feeling that ‘we are in this together.’ While summer can represent magic and the chance for relaxation, I have found that it can also be isolating as everyone is either physically dispersed throughout the state, country, or world, as well as simply busy with their own summer pursuits. Returning to campus with everyone else may reaffirm our purpose in graduate school and remind us that we are each working towards something. This transitional and often difficult period of time in academia is not a practice in futile floundering; there is a goal in sight, and we are constantly mobilizing ourselves towards that goal. 

The return to campus in the fall reveals a transformed space, as universities once again become a symbol of bustling movement and activity, shedding the silence and stillness of summer. The return to fall semester also brings with it various on-campus events and activities, as well as the teasing promise of cooler weather. Follow @FSinvolved to learn of events, programs, and other ways to get involved, or look at the Fresno State calendar tab under the home page on fresnostate.edu. Get connected to the Division of Research and Graduate Studies to stay abreast of graduate student-related news, information, and events. Let yourself look forward to (and perhaps even romanticize) the classic markers of autumn’s arrival, such as the turning leaves, the chance to dress warmer, and all of the spooky fun that October encompasses (if that’s your kind of thing). If you feel like you did not accomplish all you were hoping to complete this summer, there is still some time left before we all hit the ground running. Now is the time to take stock of what you have done so far and figure out what remains. Try making a list that prioritizes the most pressing and urgent to-do items first.

Something I have found to be helpful is to order my list with highest priority responsibilities at the top. As I accomplish items on my list, I cross them out, a highly satisfying form of personal inventory. No matter how low on my prioritized list the task may be, crossing it out and thus minimizing my obligations is freeing, as it serves a lesson in perspective too. This practice helps demystify the looming fear that some responsibilities can snowball into, if kept circulating in our brains. As Kidlin’s Law states, “If you can write the problem down clearly, then the issue is half solved” (medium.com). 

By: Madison Johansson

Summer Productivity for Graduate Students: Work Smarter, Not Harder

The arrival of summer is usually met with a palpable sigh of relief from graduate students. It represents a familiar and much sought-after lodestar for students as they weather their last projects, papers, and finals of the semester. The allure of this proverbial light at the end of the academic tunnel is drilled into us from our primary school years. It is a time for students and educators alike to take a collective breather. (Cue Alice Cooper’s proto-gothic summer anthem.)

Indeed, there is something so timeless and Americanesque about the start of summer vacation, luring the weary and tired “huddled masses yearning to breathe free” into its warm, chlorinated, barbeque-scented embrace…

However, for graduate students, their work and scholarly pursuits do not end here. Often, summer serves as a time specifically set aside to work on projects, theses, dissertations, etc. The desire for a much-needed break and the seductive siren-call of an extended vacation from graduate student responsibilities can divert students from their studies. (I know I am currently battling two wolves within me – the discernibly sweltering pull of summer idleness and the panicked need to make productive use of this rare free time!) 

While it is important to effectively use free time during summer to make progress in our work and studies, this is not to say that self-care and adequate rest should be ignored or undervalued. 

Rather, finding a healthy balance between remaining productive and giving oneself a chance to take a break (and have fun!) is essential. Furthermore, using this time to work will save us all more stress further down the road when fall semester kicks in. (Work smarter, not harder, anyone?)

But how does one strike this delicate balance? Rather than seeing summer break and summer productivity as battling sides, I think it is vital to integrate the two. This may look like taking frequent breaks throughout a period of working and diligence, rather than working straight through an assignment to ‘earn’ a break or reward at the end. Committing oneself to quantified chunks of work time is also shown to be more effective. Personally, I find that giving myself 30-minute chunks of productivity leaves me feeling much more positive about my work, as I have a measurable (and realistic) goal. 

Spreading rewards throughout the workday keeps me from burning out early on. I think the type of reward also matters, as I find getting up to move around and get the blood flowing helps inspire me and get the creative juices flowing as well. 

Conversely, eating a huge, decadent meal is a telltale sign of my latent academic sabotage as I often feel too tired to continue writing anything after a hearty meal. Similarly, an unusually intense workout will most likely leave me too tired to go on, my arms too conveniently shaky to type, requiring the only kind of respite offered by a nap or watching tv. 

Staggering types of activities throughout a long period of work so that the earlier activities may be shorter, and less taxing, is a helpful strategy. Hanging out with a friend or getting dinner is usually my last activity of the day as it personally requires the most time, effort, and energy, and I will not have the energy to continue working after such a hangout. 

Since the aesthetics and concept of summer vacation are so enmeshed with one’s environment (whether you are outdoors, traveling, poolside, etc.), I think conducting studies and working in different environments outside of home can be helpful as well. This can include going to cafes or tea houses, or reading beside the pool, as this instills the tedium of work with excitement and novelty. 

Regardless of which activities you choose to intersperse graduate schoolwork with, or which environment you choose for your studies, ensuring that these activities and environment are conducive to your productivity is key. And furthermore, you don’t need to ever feel guilty or ashamed for taking breaks! Breaks encourage productivity, and there is science to prove it.

Forbes magazine cites the research of The Energy Project founder, Tony Schwartz, who discovered that “humans naturally move from full focus and energy to physiological fatigue every 90 minutes. Our body sends us signals to rest and renew, but we override them with coffee, energy drinks, and sugar… or just by tapping our own reserves until they’re depleted.”

Rather than ignoring our natural inclination towards ‘physiological fatigue’ every 90 minutes, Schwartz advocates the “pulse and pause” method, in which people take short, healthy breaks every 90 minutes to recharge.

Taking regular, productive breaks and giving ourselves healthy, well-deserved moments of fun and relief during summer break is vital to graduate student health and success. If you feel yourself hitting a wall, consider trying a new work environment, mixing up the types of breaks you take, or implementing the pulse and pause method.

As we near the mid-point of summer vacation, it is helpful to take stock of what we have accomplished so far and pay attention to what goals we hope to accomplish by the end of summer. If you have not been as productive as you were hoping, there is still time left. This also means there is still time for relaxation and fun, so try to measure out a balance of work and rewards.

Finding the right balance is not an easy task as it requires plenty of trial and error, as you start to learn what works best for you. Giving ourselves grace and celebrating progress is just as (if not more) important as making massive headway in our work.

Graduate school is no easy feat, and the fact you have made it this far speaks to your ability and skill. In other words: you belong here; you are in the right place. Celebrate the progress you have made and continue in your academic pursuits this summer. And most important of all (in the words of Baz Luhrmann), wear sunscreen!

By: Madison Johansson

Learning to Kickflip: A Lesson on Revision

When I was a small child, four or five, despite the many warnings from my parents, I was still compelled to do something I was told never to do: stare at the sun. I did this through the lightly tinted windows of our Buick Regal, which might explain why I didn’t permanently damage my cornea. As I stared, the sun seemed to turn blue, a halo spinning around its edges. This was fascinating, but had nothing on the real show, which took place behind closed lids, an imprint of the sun spiraling in the darkness that stuck around long after I had stopped staring, growing smaller as time passed, eventually becoming a neon freckle vibrating ever so slightly in the darkness. 

I find this to be an apt metaphor for the moments that are forever imprinted on my memory, events I return to again and again in my writing. They are flashes of light that stick around no matter how much time passes. Sometimes, the reason for this stickiness is obvious due to the personal significance of the moment. Others, I can’t immediately identify any significance, and I must write my way into it finding the meaning as I go. Invariably, I find that these memories are, indeed, important even when they seem to be random.

After writing nonfiction consistently for several years, I’ve now explored many of these glimmers—let’s just call them luminary imprints—of memory. This semester, I decided to write about a luminary imprint that I had already explored in another essay. While I liked the framework of that original essay, and the writing was the best I was capable of at the time, it wasn’t what I knew it could be. So, with a better understanding of how narratives work (thanks to my first semester in the MFA program), I decided to rewrite it altogether. I used some of the movements from the original, but otherwise, it was an entirely new piece, rewritten from scratch.

The essay in question, like most essays, is about a few different things; at its core, though, is skateboarding. I began skating when I was twelve, and quickly became obsessed with it. In the essay, I’m learning how to kickflip, a trick where the board pops off the ground and spins 360 degrees along its horizontal axis beneath the skater’s feet. It is an incredibly difficult trick for a new skater, especially in 1995, with no YouTube tutorials or exhaustive forums devoted to just that one trick. Landing a kickflip became my mission in life.

The process was all trial and error. If I placed my front foot farther back on the board, it would flip easier and faster, but pop up at an angle and hit me, or look plain ugly. When I put my foot farther up, it would level the kickflip out and make it look better, but also flip too slow, making it impossible to land. Every free moment was spent trying to find the balance between the two, sometimes changing my approach altogether, starting from scratch. Finally, one glorious day in August, after I spent the entire summer practicing, I landed one. I was psyched out of my mind. But I still wasn’t done—it took me another few months to make them look the way I wanted, to figure out the exact foot placement that produced a good kickflip.

The connection between what’s in the essay—the repetition of learning to kickflip—and the process of writing the essay itself seems clear. Obvious, even. But it wasn’t until I received some notes from my mentor that I realized how similar the two processes were. In several key portions of the essay, where the repetition is deepest, where I’m trying to land this skateboarding trick, he wrote in the margins, “like writing.” What he meant was, the obsession that drove me to spend countless hours learning and perfecting a trick is much like my obsession with writing, with revising the same piece again and again, until I feel it’s good enough. Even then, there’s always room for improvement, to start again with a different narrative structure (or different foot placement) to try and make the essay (or kickflip) look just how I want it to.

By: James T. Morrison

The Way Out is Through: The “Right Amount” of Sisyphean Struggle and Personal Growth in Graduate School

Graduate school is tough, as any postbaccalaureate student will tell you. Between heavy workloads, stressful schedules, and overwhelming feelings (especially of Imposter Syndrome, if we perceive falling short of sky-high expectations to balance so much), it’s no wonder a majority of graduate students struggle with their mental health, even if they have no prior history of mental illness. A recent study by Harvard found that grads experience mental health disorders and depression at a rate three times that of the average American. The study additionally found that a tenth of graduate students experience SI (suicidal ideation) over the course of a two-week period. When I first read these numbers, I was shocked, but then shock faded to lucidity; it didn’t surprise me at all. Every week I meet with students who vocalize just how much they’re struggling to balance everything, especially when a student is a parent or occupies a caregiver role. In my previous blogpost, I spoke about the damage that “Hustle Culture” in grad school can cause, and I discuss how we can incorporate subtle self-care to prevent inevitable burnout from “hustling.” Graduate school just doesn’t allow a break from the hustle because every time we make a deadline, we’re onto the next deadline for our next string of assigned projects. Plenty of us grads struggle with feelings of burnout, but somehow, we combat the feelings of being overwhelmed and exhausted to meet more deadlines and expectations.

Grad school is a sort of Sisyphean struggle, as we constantly work to complete assignments or projects, but the workload never seems to ease up or slow down. In this sense, grad students must develop a sort of mental toughness. Graduate school is incredibly challenging, despite varying life-circumstantial factors that each student navigates. While it is relatively apparent that pursuing a graduate degree can contribute to declining or poor mental health, it is less clear why this trial might contribute to positive personal growth. Systematically, graduate school is designed to reflect capitalistic “hustle culture,” so this pursuit is not inherently “good” for our mental health. However, like pushing a boulder up a hill (…before it rolls back down to the bottom and we start again), grad school offers plenty of mental rewards (feelings of accomplishment, serotonin release) for completing tasks and assignments.

Graduate programs often demonstrate Robert Bjork’s psychological concept of “Desirable Difficulties,” which essentially expresses that we learn and grow more effectively when our process of accruing new information includes the “right amount” of challenge and difficulty. This concept expresses challenges as an opportunity for growth by encouraging the challenged to move through them. We might think of American poet Robert Frost’s A Servant to Servants, which features the “ramblings” of a housewife whose work is never done, and is typically quoted for “the best way out is always through”:

He says the best way out is always through.

And I agree to that, or in so far

As that I can see no way out but through–

Leastways for me…

In researching Norse mythology for my thesis, The Gilded Valkyrie, I stumbled across the legend of Myrkviðr (Old Norse “dark wood” or “black forest”) in Germanic mythology. Francis Gentry explains that “in the Norse tradition ‘crossing the Black Forest’ came to signify penetrating the barriers between one world and another.” The only way out of the darkness of the forest, in hopes to see the light of the sun again, is through. Whether graduate school for you is a Sisyphean struggle, or a walk through the Black Forest, this academic hurdle encourages personal resilience and growth with such desirable difficulties as independence, frequent schedule/routine shifts, and an overwhelming workload, all of which require time management and planning.

I know it’s difficult to see the light through the denseness of the trees. As ungentle and harsh as it is, grad school offers a microcosm of the survival macrocosm: we must adapt very quickly to survive, not unlike in “the real world” beyond campus. While it is hard, grad school encourages personal growth through challenges, which can have a positive impact on our mental health with daily practice.

Through three years of graduate school, I have learned many important lessons, of which I’d like to share three:

1. Breathe, then prioritize. If the thing(s) you’re panicking about will not actually impact your big picture, reframe your perspective: will it matter in 5 minutes, 5 days, or 5 months? If it won’t matter after some time, don’t spend time stressing over it now.
2. Delay gratification, but never feel guilty about pleasures. We all have little ways of treating ourselves after submitting a huge project, whether something tiny like eating a chocolate bar you’ve been saving, or something large like spending a weekend at the coast; while I think it’s important to delay gratification until a task is done, it’s extremely important to remember to take care of ourselves and even reward ourselves along the way in recognition of the work we’ve already completed. When we are busy with writing our theses or (*insert one of the gazillion things a grad student does*), self-care can seem like a reward. However, it’s more than pleasure, it’s essential; we should never feel guilty about, for example, delaying the starting point of our homework so we can take a long walk after sitting at a desk all day.
3. Remember why you’re here. Why did you apply to grad school? Whether you’re in grad school to advance and provide more for your family, or whether you’re on your “hero’s journey” of self-discovery, remember why you applied for grad school every time you feel stuck, and remember there’s a light through the forest, you just have to work your way through the trees.

By: Sarah Theller

Jonathan Swift’s “A Modest Proposal” and “The Flying Spaghetti Monster”: How Satire Can Help People Think About Things More Rationally

            As a researcher, I have spent an incredible amount of time learning about bias, from courses and articles (aimed at reducing my own potential biases as a researcher) to identifying potential biases within studies and the organizations conducting them. But unfortunately, even with education and examples of how to conduct responsible research, bias can creep into things. Much like water damage, it slowly rots, and people are none the wiser until the damage becomes such a significant problem that things eventually collapse.

            One of main problems with bias is that once an individual has been conditioned enough to think their belief is the only reasonable belief, they may begin to confine themselves to echo chambers. Unfortunately, in doing so, they often become less likely to listen to alternative views, outright rejecting them with little thought as to whether the alternate view might offer a better explanation, idea, or solution. This is where satire and humor have come to the rescue throughout history.

            In this article, I will discuss two historical, ideological issues where an author’s satirical response and approach to solving a problem allowed people to take a step back, laugh, and then figure out how to better communicate about the issue in a meaningful and productive way despite their ideological beliefs.

Let’s Just Eat the Babies Then-

            Let’s start at one the earliest instances I am aware of, Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal[GWLS1] . Swift wrote this in 1729 during a time when class inequality in Ireland was incredibly high and many families had to beg or steal to survive. Unfortunately, the struggle of the lower class was not being taken seriously by the wealthy; the struggle of the poor was perceived as a mere inconvenience. Swift, tired of seeing this economic inequality, offered an unusual solution to the shortage of food and money—the poor should raise children as livestock for the wealthy to consume.

Yes, you read that correctly; this man suggested that if the wealthy wouldn’t listen to the plight of those less affluent than themselves, the least they could do was buy sweet, sweet baby meat from the poor to help lift them out of poverty. Of course, his readers were appalled. How could anyone suggest such a barbaric solution to an economic issue? Surely there are better ways to approach this; people cannot just be selling and eating babies! That was the point. In lieu of offering a logical solution like providing communal farmlands or social support systems, which the ruling class would have never listened to, he used satire to suggest a solution so abhorrent that the ruling class was forced to act, hoping that people would not entertain the thought of baby feed lots and abattoirs.

Noodly Goodness

            Let’s shift over to America in the early 2000s. The Kansas Board of Education is debating whether to teach Intelligent Design (Creationism) alongside Evolution in school as both provide acceptable theories for how man ended up on this chunk of space rock. Supporters of Intelligent Design posit that since there is no hard evidence of Evolution; therefore, it remains a theory and should not be held in higher regard than other theories. Enter Bobby Henderson, a physics graduate from Oregon State University, who penned an outstanding letter to the Board of Education [CH2] expressing his concerns for equity amongst alternative theories for creation. He stated that if the children are going to be taught Intelligent Design, they should be exposed to multiple Intelligent Design theories, not just one. He then proceeded to introduce us to the Flying Spaghetti Monster (FSM), a flying pasta God with many noodly appendages, who “boiled for our sins” and made many unintelligent designs, like the platypus.

Henderson claims that FSM believers have evidence that the FSM created the world.  Like traditional Intelligent Design proponents, he makes the argument that the Earth is much younger than science says, explaining that the FSM changes how we interpret measurements, confusing us into thinking the Earth is much older than it is, simply because the FSM has a sense of humor. What about changes in humans over time? The FSM has that covered, too. When the Earth was younger, there were fewer humans, and we were shorter. The FSM had enough noodly appendages to hold us down to Earth, restricting our height. As humanity’s population increased- there was less of his noodly goodness to go around, so those of us not touched by his noodly appendages ended up taller. How about global warming? Henderson explains a direct correlation between the prevalence of pirates (the FSM’s chosen people) and global temperature; hence, fewer pirates equal more heat.

Like Swift before him, Henderson’s use of satire allowed people to stop for a moment and think about the situation from a more logical perspective. If you want to teach creationism, fine, but why stop at only one theory? Shouldn’t everyone’s conceptualization of the beginning of humanity be taught? It seems like a well-meaning and equitable decision to include faith-based analyses of creation until someone mentions that a pasta God’s noodly appendages are responsible for gravity and global warming.

While I am sure that some people were offended that Henderson would trivialize their faith-based account of creation, others, for the first time, could say, “Okay, when you put it that way, I understand why people might object to teaching Intelligent Design.”

Using the absurd to highlight potentially serious problems to help facilitate useful conversation has been the passion of many writers and comedians alike. Satire invites us to re-evaluate topics that might be difficult (e.g., inequity or a religious doctrine) in a way that invites us to laugh (hopefully) while also providing insight into how others may feel.

By: Courtney Hill

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 [GWLS1]https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1080/1080-h/1080-h.htm

 [CH2]https://www.spaghettimonster.org/pages/about/open-letter/

First Year Grad Students: Be Prepared, Remain Flexible

When I was accepted into the MFA program at Fresno State, I had been working the same job for fifteen years and living in the same house with my partner for almost as long. I was settled. Stable. I like stability. I don’t really put much stock in astrology, but I’ve been told by those who do that it’s a “Taurus thing.” Life may be a series of random, unpredictable events, but I sure do spend a lot of time playing psychic, trying to read the future. So, when I quit my stable job to pursue a master’s degree in the art of writing, I put my psychic skills to work, and decided I knew exactly what I was in for. I wasn’t, after all, acting on some kind of whim, or operating without any foresight. I was prepared, thought I knew what to expect.

I had the great fortune of sitting in on a master’s level workshop with the legendary, and now emeritus, Dr. John Hales when I was an undergrad. In that workshop, I made friends with writers who were already a couple of years into the program. They were (and still are) fantastic people, and talented writers; it was the best workshop I’d ever attended. This led me to believe that entering the MFA program would just be an extension of my undergrad experience. I was wrong.

I want to make something clear: my first semester as a student in Fresno State’s creative nonfiction program was stellar. I learned more about writing from Steven Church (and my cohort) in one semester than I had in four years as an undergrad. And that’s because it was a distillation of information, a “how-to-write” cocktail of a potent variety. But it also knocked me off balance in ways I wasn’t expecting.

That’s what I’m getting at here: the concept of expectations. I had them. And I think I would have been better off without them. That’s not to say that I wish anything were different; I don’t. I just should have taken note when my mentors told me, “The first year of grad school can be a little… rough.” Instead, I would just smile and nod, while thinking, not for me, it won’t be. I’m prepared. 

Don’t misunderstand, in no way am I knocking preparation. Being equipped is always a good thing; I came into the program having read half the books assigned for the semester, and an essay in the bag. But I went past equipping myself with tools that would help me succeed and entered emotional certainty. I assumed I would know what grad school and a brand-new job in a brand new setting would feel like. That was my major mistake; because I like to play psychic, I read my future emotional state, and concluded I would be enjoying every minute of my grad student experience.

Like I said, I wouldn’t change a thing; but if I were to offer an incoming grad student any insight gleaned from my experience, it would be to remain flexible. Grad school felt a lot different than I thought it would. I felt uncertain, overwhelmed, and because I’d built up all those expectations, I wasn’t prepared to adjust. To give myself a break. Take a step back, breathe, and accept the fact that my experience felt different than I had envisioned, a fact, in and of itself, that was perfectly fine. Natural, even. It’s perfectly alright to feel off balance sometimes.

See, I subscribe to this misnomer that I need to enjoy myself all the time. That if things are hard, either emotionally, physically, or in this case, intellectually, that something is wrong. My first semester was really hard. But that is totally OK. In fact, even with the limited insight I have now, just a few months out from the experience, I can see that it is already shaping my work, my work ethic, and both my personal and academic goals. Which, as it turns out, is the whole point of grad school. 

By: James Morrison

CRASH AND BURNOUT: WHY GRADUATE STUDENTS SHOULD REJECT “HUSTLE CULTURE”

Recently, I had a conversation with a student as we worked on a read-through of his thesis. He expressed interest in pursuing his doctorate degree in a field he is quite passionate about, but he soon expressed concern with being able to handle the pressures of a job and full-time course load again. This student vulnerably shared his own struggles with self-care, voicing that he would not “be around to research” if he didn’t take care of his body by allowing more time for breaks and self-care. I had another conversation with a student who expressed she felt so overwhelmed with her job as a social worker that she did not know how to balance her work and class loads. I’ve seen plenty of students drop a class they really wanted to take because they didn’t have the time for it with their busy schedules. Graduate students face enormous pressures to perform and produce all the time: we have multiple classes, jobs, assignments and research projects, friends and family life, personal interests and extracurricular activities. There is a tension between perfectionism and productivity, as the pressures to be productive 24/7 make it difficult to slow down long enough for us to take care of ourselves. Hustle culture demands nonstop productivity by shaming those who work slowly or take breaks. Along with the pressure to be productive all the time, we also carry the burden of feeling guilty when we rest.

Hustle culture demands productivity regardless of how the producer is affected. Forbes writer Artis Rozentals illustrates the designed-to-fail nature of hustle culture with an explanation of biology and argues that an “‘always on’ lifestyle will inevitably lead to burnout.” He writes: “Hustle culture puts work at the center of life. Long working hours are praised and glorified. Time off is seen as laziness. If you are not hustling, you are failing.”

Hustle culture can lead to a negative impact on work-life balance, Steven Shaw writes. Students report feeling stretched too thin, lacking sleep, experiencing nutrition deficits, and enduring depreciating relationships. All too often, graduate students indicate trouble with healthy performance and demonstrate difficulties balancing duties at their workplace with course requirements, as well as balancing their chores or domestic responsibilities, family lives, health and fitness regimens, and professional development. I often hear students say they feel like they don’t have time to breathe; grad students have so many demands pushing and pulling them in multiple directions, they may feel they do not have time to take a break, or they’ll fall behind schedule. Some have so much on their plate they feel they don’t have time to eat.

Julian Sarafian writes about his experience “hustling” through UC Berkley and Harvard Law school to land a job earning 200k a year; however, he also earned untreated anxiety and depression from #riseandgrind mentality prior to seeking help. Claire McGinnity writes that even as college students hustle daily to do as much as they can to “pad” their resumes to impress future employers, they ask “am I doing enough?” Grad students might have increased feelings of Imposter Syndrome as a result of so much demand, as many struggle with self-worth and anxiety to meet high expectations. McGinnity clarifies that working hard and striving to achieve whatever version of yourself that is best for you is admirable, and that there is nothing wrong with enjoying a busy schedule if it’s what you choose and enjoy. McGinnity urges, however, for campuses to reassess this culture of constant productivity: “Reestablishing a line between productivity and overworking will be key in helping students develop work-life boundaries.” Encouraging a work-work-work lifestyle is designed to fail, as the body and the mind demand balance of work-pleasure-rest. Even machines need breaks and maintenance.

Burnout is a way the body demands rest. Microsleep or micro-naps are a sure sign of sleep-deprivation. Burnout, experienced mentally and/or physically, is similar to the phenomenon of microsleep as the body’s way of forcing rest. Skipping meals, sleep, and breaks to be able to submit an assignment, for example, may seem minor and as part of the “sacrifices” students are supposed to make to achieve their goals, but this can lead to serious health problems.

While it’s relatively easy to recognize the damaging nature of hustle culture, it’s more difficult to enact change in practice. How can we take breaks when it feels like there’s no extra time? How can we rest when we are being bombarded with subliminal (or not so subliminal) messages to do as much as possible all the time or we are “lazy”? How can we hold onto our passion for something when life’s demands increase? Typically, we hear that we should give all or nothing. I don’t believe this to be the case with self-care. Self-care does not have to be time-consuming, nor does it have to be a grand, aesthetic display of “me time”: indeed, you probably don’t have time every night for a bubble bath with a face mask or time to play World of Warcraft for a few hours. While having extended me-time is wonderful, it isn’t big displays that keep us healthy. Much like any other relationship, we have to consistently support and care for our relationship with ourselves: if we look at ourselves as we might a partner, how might we treat ourselves differently?

Subtle self-care is self-care that might not be so obvious to anyone but yourself. For example, it might be obvious when someone takes a vacation as a break, but it might not be obvious when someone takes a 10-minute break to eat a sandwich. Most grad students might not have the option to stop “hustling” long enough to take a vacation, but they probably have a few moments (even seconds) to stand up from their desk and stretch, possibly do some deep breathing or meditation. Something as simple as singing in the car on your drive to work can count as self-care. Taking a few consistent moments for yourself throughout the day is vital and fundamental for survival.

Choosing to put yourself before “the hustle,” even in subtle ways, isn’t lazy, selfish, or bad. Establishing boundaries between work-home life is important, as is making time throughout your day for breaks, rest, and pleasure. An assignment should never take precedence over your mental or physical health. Taking care of yourself is the only way to keep hustling. Take it from someone who almost “hustled” to full burnout: graduate students should reject hustle culture and put their own well-being first. This doesn’t mean you can’t find pride in your work, or that you can’t have a full schedule. Not having a full schedule as a graduate student is a logical fallacy; graduate students will be busy throughout their programs. We should practice dealing with our intense schedules by learning how to balance work-rest-pleasure. Take a break, have some fun; the work will still be there when you get back.

By: Sarah Theller