Graduate Student Corner with Kate Thomas
Looking Back
and Thinking Ahead
I have spent much of my time in the past several weeks working on my application to clinical psychology internship programs. Writing my essays (to describe: myself, theoretical orientation, understanding of diversity, and research) has required me to reflect on my most salient and influential training experiences. This process has forced me to look back. Searching for internship programs that match my training goals has required me to think about the kind of clinical training and career I hope to obtain. This process has forced me to look ahead. All this back and forward looking has me a bit dizzy and eager to return to living in the present, but before I do, I want to use this column to share some of what I have learned in my reflections in the hopes that, at best it will be useful to others, or at least it will encourage others to reflect on lessons from their past experiences as they move toward their future goals.
I feel fortunate that most of my reflections on my graduate training lead me toward positive memories and feelings. However, I won’t spend this column praising my mentors or myself for these experiences – that would be uncomfortable for all of us to read! Besides, SITAR members are well aware of the formula for satisfaction in any realm of our lives: love and work. It seems that simple. Instead, I’ll use this column to discuss three struggles I have faced in my training that seem to share a common solution.
Struggle 1: The input-output conundrum
When I began graduate school, I was eager to consume diverse literatures. After I finished my thesis, lab, and class work, I eagerly spent my free time reading both the classics and the latest articles from my favorite journals. But as my time in graduate school increased, so did my workload. Beginning to work with clients added not just clinical hours to my schedule, but also time spent in and commuting to supervision, writing notes, consulting with peers and supervisors, and reading and preparing for sessions. Research productivity and excitement beget involvement in more research projects. I became aware of the input-output conundrum in my training because I wanted to take advantage of as many opportunities for output as I was offered. I was excited to be involved in important research projects, and eager to work with clients whom I knew would challenge me to grow. I grabbed hold of as many opportunities as I thought I could manage, and often thrived on the diversity these experiences entailed. But if I take an honest look back at the times I struggled the most in my graduate training – the times when I let myself or someone else down – I see that these were also these times when my input-output ratio was disproportionate. They were times when I had too much to do, and took too little time to think and learn.
The rewards I experience when I read the classics are personal and lasting; the rewards I experience when I publish a paper are public and immediate. Reading the classics is good for me in variety of direct and indirect ways, but publishing a paper will get me a job, and getting a job is good for me! It’s all too easy to tell myself that once I get that job…and tenure…then, then I’ll have time to read and learn. But I can only kid myself like this when I’m not in a mindful state. The reality, best I can tell, is that if I don’t take the time for input now – I likely never will. Habits are hard to change. And life looks like it only gets busier. I think one of the greatest difficulties that current trainees face is balancing opportunities for reflective learning with opportunities to produce and prove oneself.
Struggle 2: Breadth vs. Depth
I have also struggled throughout my training to know how much to seek breadth versus depth in my curriculum and research. On one hand, graduate school seems to be one of the few times in our academic lives when we are encouraged to read broadly and explore literature across a variety of domains. But at the same time, students are told they should be the world’s expert on their dissertation topic by the time of their defense. Of course, these two belief systems need not be in conflict. I think an adaptive and normative progression in graduate school is to begin with breadth in our training and to move toward increasing depth as we approach our diploma.
But for me, this pull toward increasing depth is not fully satisfying. I often look at younger students with a tinge of envy because their research world is still their oyster, so to speak. At this stage in my training, as I begin to consider what I might present when I give a job talk, I think I should resist my urges to be involved in projects that are not focused, in some way, on interpersonal processes. (Thankfully, these are two wonderfully encompassing words)! And yet, I constantly lose this fight with myself and continue to seek breadth. For instance, at the beginning of this semester, I struggled to decide whether or not to take a class on item response theory (IRT). I have been interested in this method from a distance for about as long as I have understood its basic premises, and I had the flexibility in my schedule to take the course this semester. But I had no clear project in mind that would be best suited to IRT analyses and my dissertation will not use IRT. I am simply interested in learning more about the technique and how I might be able to implement it, if I ever chose to do so. I knew taking this class would satisfy my desire for breadth, but would interfere with my ability to pursue depth in the projects I have been working on for years. Ultimately, I chose to take the course, but I’m not sure that I chose breadth over depth – I am still focusing on my dissertation and the other projects underway – instead I think choose both breadth and depth, which brings me to my final dilemma of my graduate school experience.
Struggle 3: The invitation for unmitigated agency
If I am not working, I often tell myself that I should be. At any given time, most of my fellow students are working, my boyfriend is working, my advisor is working, and by all means (I tell myself), I should be working. I am often surprised and dismayed by the things my clients say when they begin sentences with “I’ve been thinking about what you said last week.” So at the risk of doing the same thing to my advisor publically, I often think about something Chris said to me soon after I arrived to Michigan State. He said: “if you have free time in grad school, you aren’t taking advantage of an opportunity.” His comment is one of the reasons I use my free time to read broadly, join projects, and choose breadth and depth in my training. As I reflect on Chris’s comment, I see more clearly that it was not a suggestion – he was not telling me to choose opportunities – it was simply an observation – I am always invited to choose opportunities. And I have a hard time turning down invitations. I expect many of my fellow students likewise struggle to turn down our constant invitations to choose agency. Although I recognize the importance of my relationships, in the trenches of my daily life, everything seems to pull me toward unmitigated agency. My friend will be more willing to forgive a late reply to an email that an editor will be to forgive a late review, so I choose agency.
As I reflect on the struggles I have faced in my graduate training, I can use the benefits of hindsight to see the guiding principle that has either allowed me to successfully navigate these dilemmas, or has been conspicuously absent when I haven’t navigated my dilemmas so successfully. Here again, I have no assumptions that the same principle guides all of us, but I will simply share what best guides me.
My solution: Balance
Should I be more concerned with input or output? When I lose my balance between these two, they both suffer. When I focus exclusively on producing, I can get lost in a vacuum and lose sight of the relevance of my questions. When I solely sit back and absorb, I can lose my sense of purpose. I am at my best when I balance my intellectual input and output. The need to balance breadth and depth seems especially apparent to me. When I focus exclusively on depth, I can get stuck puzzling over the most minuscule aspect of this one particular thing, which, let’s be honest, very few others see any reason to care about. But I am equally sure that some of my biggest training mistakes have involved trying to do and learn everything, without focus, simply because I find it interesting. Without depth, I know a little about a lot, but have no sense of how to focus my intellectual energies.
SITAR readers don’t need me to remind them that our lives lack fulfillment when we fail to balance agency with communion. But what is surprising to me is how easy it is to forget this, even though I know it. What has also surprised me is the paradox that when I focus exclusively on my work, its quality tends to deteriorate. I’m not sure I know exactly why this happens, but I suspect it involves the importance of infusing our work with our most important experiences, whether directly or indirectly. I have also found myself the least satisfied with my work when I spend nearly all my time doing it. And for me, the quality of my work suffers when I am not enjoying doing it.
If the solution to many of my dilemmas is balance, what can I do to keep this in mind as I think about embarking on internship and beginning my career? I think if I want to use what I have learned, I need to be thoughtful about the kind of balance I want within my work, as well as the kind of balance I want within my life. I am quite certain that I want a career that balances research, teaching, and clinical work. I am also quite certain that any expectation that I can find equal balance across these domains is idealistic and unlikely. And that’s ok, so long as I can find something that allows me to achieve some kind of balance either within or across these domains. And if I can’t find it, I damn well better try to create it. To become the kind of psychologist I want to be, I need to balance my output with input, I need to balance depth with breadth, and I need to balance my work with my life.
This brings me to my final question: how can I find balance within my life? I think the answer is deceptively simple. I think I just need to maintain my awareness that I need it. For many of us student members of SITAR, the opportunities that await us in our careers are unending. I want to take them all! If I lose sight of my need to stay balanced, I probably will take them, and I expect my work and relationships will both ultimately suffer. I also need to stay aware of the reality that careers differ in terms of how much time they require, and if I am lucky, I will have to work hard to stay aware of the difference between the best job and the best job for me as I chose my career.
I don’t believe anything I have written is novel or even all that exciting. But I do think it’s incredibly hard, at least for me, to stay aware of those things that are important and obvious. It doesn’t surprise me to know that I want to balance my output with my input, my depth with breadth, or my agency with communion. What does surprise me is how susceptible I am to the many contingencies in our field that pull me to forget this, that pull me to produce, to specialize, to work, work, work. It’s a daily struggle to remember to also listen, and learn, and love.
I have spent much of my time in the past several weeks working on my application to clinical psychology internship programs. Writing my essays (to describe: myself, theoretical orientation, understanding of diversity, and research) has required me to reflect on my most salient and influential training experiences. This process has forced me to look back. Searching for internship programs that match my training goals has required me to think about the kind of clinical training and career I hope to obtain. This process has forced me to look ahead. All this back and forward looking has me a bit dizzy and eager to return to living in the present, but before I do, I want to use this column to share some of what I have learned in my reflections in the hopes that, at best it will be useful to others, or at least it will encourage others to reflect on lessons from their past experiences as they move toward their future goals.
I feel fortunate that most of my reflections on my graduate training lead me toward positive memories and feelings. However, I won’t spend this column praising my mentors or myself for these experiences – that would be uncomfortable for all of us to read! Besides, SITAR members are well aware of the formula for satisfaction in any realm of our lives: love and work. It seems that simple. Instead, I’ll use this column to discuss three struggles I have faced in my training that seem to share a common solution.
Struggle 1: The input-output conundrum
When I began graduate school, I was eager to consume diverse literatures. After I finished my thesis, lab, and class work, I eagerly spent my free time reading both the classics and the latest articles from my favorite journals. But as my time in graduate school increased, so did my workload. Beginning to work with clients added not just clinical hours to my schedule, but also time spent in and commuting to supervision, writing notes, consulting with peers and supervisors, and reading and preparing for sessions. Research productivity and excitement beget involvement in more research projects. I became aware of the input-output conundrum in my training because I wanted to take advantage of as many opportunities for output as I was offered. I was excited to be involved in important research projects, and eager to work with clients whom I knew would challenge me to grow. I grabbed hold of as many opportunities as I thought I could manage, and often thrived on the diversity these experiences entailed. But if I take an honest look back at the times I struggled the most in my graduate training – the times when I let myself or someone else down – I see that these were also these times when my input-output ratio was disproportionate. They were times when I had too much to do, and took too little time to think and learn.
The rewards I experience when I read the classics are personal and lasting; the rewards I experience when I publish a paper are public and immediate. Reading the classics is good for me in variety of direct and indirect ways, but publishing a paper will get me a job, and getting a job is good for me! It’s all too easy to tell myself that once I get that job…and tenure…then, then I’ll have time to read and learn. But I can only kid myself like this when I’m not in a mindful state. The reality, best I can tell, is that if I don’t take the time for input now – I likely never will. Habits are hard to change. And life looks like it only gets busier. I think one of the greatest difficulties that current trainees face is balancing opportunities for reflective learning with opportunities to produce and prove oneself.
Struggle 2: Breadth vs. Depth
I have also struggled throughout my training to know how much to seek breadth versus depth in my curriculum and research. On one hand, graduate school seems to be one of the few times in our academic lives when we are encouraged to read broadly and explore literature across a variety of domains. But at the same time, students are told they should be the world’s expert on their dissertation topic by the time of their defense. Of course, these two belief systems need not be in conflict. I think an adaptive and normative progression in graduate school is to begin with breadth in our training and to move toward increasing depth as we approach our diploma.
But for me, this pull toward increasing depth is not fully satisfying. I often look at younger students with a tinge of envy because their research world is still their oyster, so to speak. At this stage in my training, as I begin to consider what I might present when I give a job talk, I think I should resist my urges to be involved in projects that are not focused, in some way, on interpersonal processes. (Thankfully, these are two wonderfully encompassing words)! And yet, I constantly lose this fight with myself and continue to seek breadth. For instance, at the beginning of this semester, I struggled to decide whether or not to take a class on item response theory (IRT). I have been interested in this method from a distance for about as long as I have understood its basic premises, and I had the flexibility in my schedule to take the course this semester. But I had no clear project in mind that would be best suited to IRT analyses and my dissertation will not use IRT. I am simply interested in learning more about the technique and how I might be able to implement it, if I ever chose to do so. I knew taking this class would satisfy my desire for breadth, but would interfere with my ability to pursue depth in the projects I have been working on for years. Ultimately, I chose to take the course, but I’m not sure that I chose breadth over depth – I am still focusing on my dissertation and the other projects underway – instead I think choose both breadth and depth, which brings me to my final dilemma of my graduate school experience.
Struggle 3: The invitation for unmitigated agency
If I am not working, I often tell myself that I should be. At any given time, most of my fellow students are working, my boyfriend is working, my advisor is working, and by all means (I tell myself), I should be working. I am often surprised and dismayed by the things my clients say when they begin sentences with “I’ve been thinking about what you said last week.” So at the risk of doing the same thing to my advisor publically, I often think about something Chris said to me soon after I arrived to Michigan State. He said: “if you have free time in grad school, you aren’t taking advantage of an opportunity.” His comment is one of the reasons I use my free time to read broadly, join projects, and choose breadth and depth in my training. As I reflect on Chris’s comment, I see more clearly that it was not a suggestion – he was not telling me to choose opportunities – it was simply an observation – I am always invited to choose opportunities. And I have a hard time turning down invitations. I expect many of my fellow students likewise struggle to turn down our constant invitations to choose agency. Although I recognize the importance of my relationships, in the trenches of my daily life, everything seems to pull me toward unmitigated agency. My friend will be more willing to forgive a late reply to an email that an editor will be to forgive a late review, so I choose agency.
As I reflect on the struggles I have faced in my graduate training, I can use the benefits of hindsight to see the guiding principle that has either allowed me to successfully navigate these dilemmas, or has been conspicuously absent when I haven’t navigated my dilemmas so successfully. Here again, I have no assumptions that the same principle guides all of us, but I will simply share what best guides me.
My solution: Balance
Should I be more concerned with input or output? When I lose my balance between these two, they both suffer. When I focus exclusively on producing, I can get lost in a vacuum and lose sight of the relevance of my questions. When I solely sit back and absorb, I can lose my sense of purpose. I am at my best when I balance my intellectual input and output. The need to balance breadth and depth seems especially apparent to me. When I focus exclusively on depth, I can get stuck puzzling over the most minuscule aspect of this one particular thing, which, let’s be honest, very few others see any reason to care about. But I am equally sure that some of my biggest training mistakes have involved trying to do and learn everything, without focus, simply because I find it interesting. Without depth, I know a little about a lot, but have no sense of how to focus my intellectual energies.
SITAR readers don’t need me to remind them that our lives lack fulfillment when we fail to balance agency with communion. But what is surprising to me is how easy it is to forget this, even though I know it. What has also surprised me is the paradox that when I focus exclusively on my work, its quality tends to deteriorate. I’m not sure I know exactly why this happens, but I suspect it involves the importance of infusing our work with our most important experiences, whether directly or indirectly. I have also found myself the least satisfied with my work when I spend nearly all my time doing it. And for me, the quality of my work suffers when I am not enjoying doing it.
If the solution to many of my dilemmas is balance, what can I do to keep this in mind as I think about embarking on internship and beginning my career? I think if I want to use what I have learned, I need to be thoughtful about the kind of balance I want within my work, as well as the kind of balance I want within my life. I am quite certain that I want a career that balances research, teaching, and clinical work. I am also quite certain that any expectation that I can find equal balance across these domains is idealistic and unlikely. And that’s ok, so long as I can find something that allows me to achieve some kind of balance either within or across these domains. And if I can’t find it, I damn well better try to create it. To become the kind of psychologist I want to be, I need to balance my output with input, I need to balance depth with breadth, and I need to balance my work with my life.
This brings me to my final question: how can I find balance within my life? I think the answer is deceptively simple. I think I just need to maintain my awareness that I need it. For many of us student members of SITAR, the opportunities that await us in our careers are unending. I want to take them all! If I lose sight of my need to stay balanced, I probably will take them, and I expect my work and relationships will both ultimately suffer. I also need to stay aware of the reality that careers differ in terms of how much time they require, and if I am lucky, I will have to work hard to stay aware of the difference between the best job and the best job for me as I chose my career.
I don’t believe anything I have written is novel or even all that exciting. But I do think it’s incredibly hard, at least for me, to stay aware of those things that are important and obvious. It doesn’t surprise me to know that I want to balance my output with my input, my depth with breadth, or my agency with communion. What does surprise me is how susceptible I am to the many contingencies in our field that pull me to forget this, that pull me to produce, to specialize, to work, work, work. It’s a daily struggle to remember to also listen, and learn, and love.