Back in March of 2012, when I was working on my dissertation proposal, I frequently wondered if I was going to survive writing my dissertation. When people asked me how things were going, I used words like fiasco. Debacle. Nightmare. Train wreck. I was just beginning to understand the true meaning of the phrase terminal degree. The terminal degree is the one that makes us stronger—unless it kills us first. The dissertation journey is not for the faint-hearted. However, if you are working on your dissertation right now, take heart: You can survive this. I learned three valuable lessons from my dissertation journey. I share them with you.
1. Don’t worry if you can’t remember everything
I enrolled in an online doctoral program at a tiny for-profit research university in December of 2005. By 2012, I had written hundreds of papers, large and small, and read a thousand articles by hundreds of scholars. I had valiantly completed and submitted umpteen assignments to dozens of faceless mentors in scads of virtual course rooms. Like the shelves in my basement, my 56-year-old brain was crammed with poorly packed, improperly labeled knowledge. Almost as fast as I learned it, I’d forgotten most of what I had learned.
Knowledge evolves. Knowledge waits for no one, especially not tired dissertators. Ninety-nine percent of the course assignments I completed were based on obsolete textbooks and five-year-old journal articles. New theories, methods, and technologies were constantly emerging (e.g., e-commerce). In addition, because it was the 2000s and not the 2010s, much now-essential knowledge was missing from my marketing curriculum (e.g., social media).
Knowledge is obsolete before it is published. In that sense, acquiring book knowledge is like buying a new car: Knowledge loses at least half its value the moment we exit the course room. A newer shinier bit of knowledge is always glittering around the next corner. Eventually we discover earning a doctorate is not about acquiring knowledge. It never was. I don’t bother trying to retrieve things I “learned” during my course assignments. It’s like expecting new-car smell when I get into my old Ford Focus.
2. You can succeed with mediocre research and writing skills
You don’t need to be a great researcher or writer. I thought I did. In fact, I thought I was. Even as I was studying obsolete topics such as e-commerce and Maslow’s hierarchy of needs theory, I consoled myself with a belief that I was honing my research and writing skills. I admit, I’ve always been a little smug about my ability to find and describe arcane stuff about which nobody cares.
Modern academics don’t need research skills. We have Google. We don’t need writing skills. We have Grammarly. Moreover, the gatekeepers who approve dissertation proposals and manuscripts seem to focus more on adherence to templates and formats than they do on content and scholarly excellence. Of course, I’m biased by an information deficit: as an editor, I see only a tiny fraction of the social science dissertations trickling out of U.S. higher education institutions.
To broaden my perspective, I study published dissertators to understand what they did to succeed (i.e., what they got away with); then I write books to help dissertators who are struggling to get approvals. My intention is to reassure you that research and writing can be much less daunting than you anticipated or feared.
You might be pleased to know I’ve seen many errors, large and small, in published dissertations. I’m trained to catch format and style errors so of course I see those. However, every now and then, I’ll run across text like this: [expand on this section]. Just like that—an insertion of a direction to the dissertator to do something before submitting. Clearly, sometimes dissertators (and their reviewers) fail to catch and remove embarrassing text; thus, these errors become a permanent part of the academic record. Just as all my incorrect dois are captured for posterity in ProQuest Open Access. Hey, it happens. In my case, happened. I can’t go back and change the past.
3. You will learn how to survive
Long after it was too late for me to quit on my dissertation, I had the disheartening realization that when I finished this degree, I would have a smattering of mostly useless knowledge and lots of practice researching and writing on a topic few people cared much about, including me. Was that it, I wondered, after six years and $42,000?
Pursuing a doctorate is about developing survival skills. That sounds melodramatic, doesn’t it? What kinds of dangers could possibly threaten a doctoral candidate? It’s not as if we are lost in the woods.
The dangers that threaten us are the internal monsters that lurk in our minds: boredom, doubt, anguish, impatience, resentment, and despair, to name a few. I’m sure there are more. Like sturgeon, we will survive by settling for good enough instead of aiming for perfection.
Pursuing a doctoral degree is like giving our internal saboteurs a grenade launcher and hanging a target on our back. Now I understand why so few people seek doctorates. Not every crosses the finish line. Those who do share a special bond—a unique form of misery that gradually transforms into a triumph unlike any other.
Summary
Don’t worry if you forget most of what you learned. If your research and writing skills aren’t perfect, don’t fret. You are learning how to survive the pitfalls of the dissertation journey. Once you cross the finish line, you will realize you now know the secret to overcoming just about any challenge: Show up, do your best, and don’t give up.
