I wanted to be a professor since before I knew the word for it. As a child, I wanted to teach and the older I got, the more certain I was that full-time academics were for me. I wanted a PhD and while my field of choice changed the ambition never did. I was determined to be a doctor, determined to publish profound articles and shape young minds.
On the first day of graduate orientation, I told a peer that I wanted to get my Ph.D in theology or teach third grade. I told her that the verdict was still out, that I wasn't sure which age range God had gifted me to serve.
The verdict is still out. Although I wear the hat of a professor on Monday nights, teaching 19 year olds about philosophy, I refuse to sign my emails as "Professor Atkinson" and instead simply maintain my student identity as "Larissa Atkinson." I refuse to look at schools for doctoral research, despite the fact applications are due in 8 short months. I refuse to write for publication, quit my part time job, pick a research topic. Despite the myriad opportunities to fulfill my lifelong dream, I refuse to move forward in fear that the dream was a mirage, that if I keep going, I will only find myself stranded in the desert with no option but to stay in the desert, letting academia slowly drain the life from me.
Most days, I'm left wondering what happens if my dream is no longer my dream. What becomes of the ambitious child who read encyclopedias for fun when she discovers that the vision of her future life is not a life worth pursuing? If the dream which has defined me is no longer my dream, then what am I aiming for? Where do I turn?
In the midst of this existential angst, I talked with one of my favorite classmates and we commiserated about the difficult material in our class and the rejections he recently received from his second doctoral application process. I said to him, "At some point, doesn't it just feel like academia is a gamble? In the end, the house always wins. A few lucky souls win a large pot and retreat to their high roller suites, but at what point do you realize that won't be you? How many hands do you play before you cut your losses and go home? How many more years of my life do I give before I duck my head in shame and return to where I was before this began?"
That question still remains: When is it time to cut the losses and go home? Do I wait out a good hand, bluff my way through the process, and take each won hand as an indicator of a larger pattern, or do I see a scam when I see one and retreat from the table, never knowing what could have been?
