Monthly Archives: January 2016

This Monday in the Life of a First-year Biology Phd Student

Before I started this round of grad school, I had no real concept of what it meant, on a lived daily basis, to be a PhD student in the sciences. Of course, schedules vary dramatically from lab to lab and discipline to discipline, and I know things will also change profoundly from quarter to quarter and year to year over the course of my own graduate career. Still, I thought I’d document, for myself and anyone else who is curious, what life currently looks like happened on this particular Monday.

  • 5:57 am: I got out of bed, got my shit together, and biked to the gym.

This quarter I’m taking a spin class, which for trademark reasons the university rec center refers to as “cardio cycling.” It meets at 7am three mornings a week, and it is the worst thing in the world.

(Actually, considering that it consists of an enthusiastic young woman yelling at you to leave everything on the bike while loud music plays and a giant fan works in concert with the ceiling lights to create a strobe effect, it’s surprising I don’t hate it more. It does hurt like hell if you’re doing it right.)

  • 8:45 am: I arrived at my office.

Ian, a 4th-year in my lab who is both one of the smartest and one of the most patient people I have ever met (not always a pair of traits that occur together), sits across a divider from me in the same office; he is typically there when I arrive, and still there when I leave. Part of this is down to personal preference/style/work-life balance, but part of it is also that life really does look very different when you’re further along in this process. On Mondays, Ian and I usually swap weekend adventures. This Saturday he led a snowshoe with a bunch of potential grad students who were here for their interview weekend, and they learned a valuable lesson about how high up in the mountains you can go out here and still get rained on.

I spent the following few hours at my desk. During this time I reviewed a bunch of lecture notes for a class on chemical communication I’m taking that meets on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. I also read three papers for an advanced ecology seminar that meets on Tuesdays and Thursdays. While I read the latter, I annotated each source in Zotero, the reference manager I’m using to create a personal library of relevant scientific literature. Organizing and annotating papers is a pain, but I hear it’s something my future self will be glad I did. I hear a lot of things about how my future self will feel regarding all my current actions. I have to say—I’m not her biggest fan. She’s a little demanding.

Another thing I did this morning was send an email to a professor whose class I was interested in TA-ing for in the spring. Like most of the students in the bio program at UW, being a teaching assistant is probably how I will fund my salary most of the time. I’m guaranteed a teaching job whenever I need one for the first five years, but I won’t always get the positions I most prefer. The system of matching grad students with faculty or courses in need of TAs is so complicated and takes so long that it’s starting now for the spring, just a few weeks into winter quarter. (I heard back by the afternoon; the position was already filled with one of the professor’s own grad students. This was not surprising.)

  • 11ish am: I moved to a cafe in the Genome Sciences building, which I like because it has many large windows and feels light and open.

While I ate, I started reading this week’s discussion paper for my chemical communication class. As a result of this habit my laptop could really use a cleaning, but having lunch without doing anything else at the same time is generally a luxury saved for the weekend. (Whee!)

  • Noon: I went to the departmental seminar.

Every week, the whole biology department gets together to hear a speaker—often one of our own, but sometimes an invited guest. Today’s event was particularly neat because it was a mini-seminar in which five postdocs spoke about their work in the Pecha Kucha format. After the seminar I chatted with a few friends from my cohort; as a group, we don’t see each other as often as we used to last quarter, so Monday’s seminars are one of the few times I get to catch up with folks who aren’t in any of my classes. When we said goodbye, I went back to my office, read and responded to emails, and made some notes for my biweekly meeting with my advisor.

  • 2 pm: I met with my advisor.

Even though she’s wonderful (and wonderfully direct, which is one of the reasons I think we have had such an excellent working relationship so far), I still get a tiny bit nervous before every single one of my meetings with my advisor. Today we talked among other things about how my quarter is going and discussed a potential tweak to the project I’m planning on working on in my multivariate statistics class. The analysis will make use of a dataset from the lab’s citizen science project, and I’m excited about it, but hadn’t had a chance to talk to her about it yet because she was away when I came up with the broad strokes. She sketched on the whiteboard in her office during the discussion—something that no good meeting is complete without. (I am here to tell you from this side of the door that scientists really do love their whiteboards.)

I also confessed the relative lack of progress I’m making on figuring out a clear plan for what I’m going to do in my first field season this summer—which is not a problem yet but will be relatively soon if I don’t get over my fear of being the purveyor of bad scientific ideas and just get cracking. (I didn’t confess my fear of being the purveyor of bad scientific ideas, but if I had, I’m pretty sure she would have very kindly told me I was being an idiot.)

The last thing we did before I left her office was agree on two tasks for me to complete before our next meeting. Then she decided that wasn’t enough, so we added a third task. Good things come in threes?

  • 3:45 pm: I finished up the paper I was in the middle of reading and then headed to the bird lab at the Burke Museum.

I don’t always skin on Mondays, but one piece of advice almost everyone I’ve met in grad school has offered—even if they don’t adhere to it themselves—is to make time for doing what you love. And besides getting out to the mountains and the desert and the ocean, skinning is one of the great loves of my life. Plus, even though prepping birds has no real relation with the research I’m going to be doing, learning to skin is what started me off on the journey that brought me here in the first place. It’s a little bit sacred, and so I try to go when I feel I can spare the time. Skinning also tends to help me kick things out of my mind that have been going around and around in it, and these past few days I’ve been having a hard time letting go of a situation I screwed up recently and am ashamed of. So: space for the sacred and for sanity.

Today I skinned a female Rock Ptarmigan (Lagopus muta), one of 40 specimens from the North Slope of the Brooks Range in Alaska that the museum acquired from the Fish and Wildlife Service. She was fat and broken-winged and bloody and so molty she lost about a third of her feathers while I worked, but she was still a wonder and brought back many happy memories of her Willow Ptarmigan cousins (Lagopus lagopus) who were my camp neighbors in Alaska in 2012.

It was especially fun to prep her because she turned out to have eight developing ova inside her, including one that had started to form a shell and was likely days from being laid. I have a photo of her eggs and collapsed follicles all laid out like a red and yellow palette, but it seems kinder to show you her wing instead, in case you are also multitasking while having lunch. (Let me know if you want to see her eggs and I’ll post the photo in the comments.)

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  • 7:30 pm: I walked back from the Burke to my office to get my bike, and rode home for dinner with Ross.

After dinner I spent a few minutes cleaning half the kitchen (Ross cleaned the other half), because some rotten and frankly wholly unnecessary part of my brain seems really invested in keeping the house in good order.

  • 9:12 pm: I decided, for reasons that are now utterly obscure to me, to write this post instead of going to bed.

And here we are.

Reasons For Not Writing

So many winter days begin in rain and end in rain; and thoughts, you know, do have to be dried out quite thoroughly before they can be used again. It is too wet to make a scrap of sense. Instead you put your bike away and drip onto the floor, and wipe damp forehead with damp glove, and think: When summer comes.

The part of you that’s always done the actual labor of it—dragging sentence upon sentence into place, each heavier and more awkward than the last—has recently begun to take appointments, every hour in different buildings. The part of you that knows how this should work—it’s elsewhere. Getting up to god knows what all kind of brand new nonsense. Making bad sketches of the invertebrate olfactory processing system, some days. Or calculating correlation coefficients. Peering at a screen and typing “Phenodata$Bud_rank <- factor(Phenodata$Bud_rank, ordered=TRUE, levels=c(4, 3, 2, 1))” like a damn fool, as if a thing like that could ever actually mean something. I know you think you’re having fun, but you’ve really lost your head.

Or.

You’re nervous, tell the truth. You’ve never stood on this side of the door before—you know the door. It’s got a sign on it. The sign says “SCIENTISTS, COME ON IN AND DO SOME SCIENCE!” You just don’t know what your new voice sounds like on this side, so it feels much safer to be silent.

Well, it’s a new year. Maybe time to clear your throat. Stay tuned.

(The door in my head looks exactly like this.)

(The door in my head looks exactly like this.)