You didn't need me to tell you that, of course. But there it is. As of tomorrow there are 31 days to go until I have satisfied the requirements of this PhD. Queue the recording of Johnny Cash singing "10 More Minutes to Go" in my head. It's not actually as morbid as that, you know, but there is a sort of "death" coming.
The death of student-dom. At 42, I don't think it's come too early. It's just that there are some things to which I've grown accustomed. For example, saying, "Actually..." and then correcting my friends, it being socially acceptable to bring Tupperware to every party so I can take home the extra food, and having access to all the electronic journals.
I'll miss it being someone else's fault, ultimately, if I really screw something up. The fact that my "mistakes" have real and serious consequences is hitting me right in my terror centre. As I start to wind up with clients/patients up here, I realize that I really mean something to some of these folks. That's not something I'm super-used-to facing. I don't mean to insinuate that I don't think I mean anything to my friends and small family. I know I do. This is different. I became meaningful through my work. It might be a little bit like bringing yourself to life. It's weird and hopeful and scary and disorienting and exhausting and boring and discombobulating. It's a lot of pressure to "get it right" in such a young science. Going through the PhD has taught me that I now know more about what I don't know. That's humbling.
Soon The Student will become The Professional. In 31 days. Well, 31 days + 1800 hours of supervised practice + jurisprudence + EEEP + orals. So maybe it'll be more of a transition after all.
