How does your garden grow?

Spring arrived in early March to Escondido. I'd saved up a few photos to post here for when the time was right.

I suppose now is as good a time as any...

I like photographing nature more than people. Perhaps it's because I feel like I'm more likely to capture the depth of a leaf in a photo, while it's incredibly hard to represent a person (or even a part of a person) in a single photograph.

Plus, Nature rarely has a bad hair day...

Watering: an absolute necessity in the barren, arid climate of Escondido.

A few things I learned in grad school...

Note: It's taken me several months to write this post. I started in February, and obviously I needed to do some processing before writing things down here. This isn't meant to be a sob story, and I certainly don't want anyone to feel sorry for me. These are just a few (big) things I've learned over the past few years and how they've changed me for the better.

In the weeds

I've had a few months to process the last couple of years of my life. A few months is not nearly enough time to really understand what changed in me (my personality, my emotional well-being, etc.) and what I did in reaction to what my life was during grad school. A few months is enough time to see the major themes that developed over the course of four and a half years.

Vasculature

1. Failure in life is inevitable. Most grad students in the chemical and biological sciences know this truth intimately. I failed all. the. time. Everyday, probably. Multiple times a day. This experiment wouldn't work (for the millionth time), so I would try for the 1,000,001th time with a tiny variation to one parameter. Graduate school taught me to be comfortable in failure, to harness my frustration and to know when tenacity alone isn't going to make the experiment work. Failure is no longer terrifying to me. I certainly try my hardest for those things that matter most in life, but I know if (when) I fail at those things, life doesn't end. Not fearing failure means I'm quite courageous when trying to do new things (both inside and outside of science). Now, that doesn't mean I just throw caution to the wind (I'm still a very analytical person), but I don't get hung up on things because I'm afraid they won't work when I try to do them the first time.

2. I can survive any nasty comment you throw at me--blatant or subversive. "Stick and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me..." I'd like to throttle the idiot who said that, and the people who decided to teach it to us while we were children. Words hurt. As an adult, words are your weapons. If one feels like someone is threatening him or her, words will be slung around like a machete--damn the long term consequences, because this person needs to feel better NOW. In the beginning (and the middle, and even towards the end...) of grad school cutting comments were a really big problem for me. In the beginning, when I was with my entering class, I noticed how mean some of the students could be, especially if they felt like their intelligence was being challenged. The reality is, most of us were the best-of-the-best as undergrads, and many felt like it was their duty to let everyone else know just how smart (and how much better) they were compared to everyone else.

For me, that nonsense gets old very quickly. That posturing becomes especially ridiculous when you perceive it coming from your superiors, which I did. I'd like to think I'm pretty unassuming intellectually (I tend to let people talk and think I agree with them, when in reality I think they're totally incorrect), so I was particularly saddened and frustrated when I felt like my intelligence and ability were constantly under attack.

In the end, I think I've developed some thicker skin, and I'm far less likely to let someone mortally wound me with their personal opinions. Also, I've realized I can stare down the best of them. Sometimes looks are more withering than words, and are effective weaponry when used in the proper context.

Weeds in bloom.

3. Depression is tangible and horrific at its best. I think many of us feel blue from time-to-time, and carelessly say "Oh, I'm depressed today." Depression is absolutely on a sliding scale, and one person's observation of depression may vary greatly from others' observations. I thought I knew depression back when I was growing up--feeling reclusive and down about the way I looked/presented myself. I'm here to tell that middle school/high school-Lisa that she was just fine back then, and feeling that kind of angst is akin to emotional growing pains.

Intangibly, depression was a wispy darkness that engulfed me, holding me hostage for a ransom that I can't begin to understand. It started out as a speck of black at the very center of me, and it manifested itself slowly, over time, creeping and seeping out into me with every unjust criticism and inexplicable failure. At one moment, it was too much to bear. The blackness vastly outweighed my light, and I broke. Tangibly, depression took away my eating, sleeping and ability to focus--3 main early warning signs I now pay attention to if I'm worried about spiraling downward again.

Truthfully, in the thick of it, I thought I was permanently damaged. I was so afraid for my husband and my family--what a burden I was going to be! But...I survived this depression.  Through the intensive care of doctors and a gifted therapist, I was able to control the depression (mostly through medication), face it (mostly through talking with my therapist, family, and friends) and finish my doctorate. The damage wasn't permanent (both my psychiatrist and my therapist had a hunch that this was the case), though there are emotional scars here and there to remind me of the battle.

How did this change me? The real question is 'how did it NOT change me?'. The biggest change is my newfound ability to freely show compassion. My heart breaks for those with mental illness now, because I've walked in their shoes. My heart breaks for graduate students (and those with incredibly demanding jobs), because I know exactly how hard the gauntlet is to run. Surviving this depression forced me to be introspective, and to find out exactly what kind of substance I'm made of. Thankfully, I had an outstanding support system to get me through this battle, but I know that I have a lot of fight in me. While I don't think I could have made it through grad school all on my own, I know that my tenacity and perseverance were substantially influential in initially seeking out help, and also getting through this depression. I am powerful when I am determined.

Like I said in the beginning of this incredibly long-winded post, I'm not looking for pity. I'm good (maybe even great!) now that I'm in a new environment. I know what to look out for now in a professional environment, and I'm taking the lessons I've learned in grad school and moving forward. Drudging up the sad/terrible past is not productive (perhaps this is why it took me so long to write this entire post--I kept feeling awful and had to stop writing), which is why I'm so looking forward to what the future is going to bring.

Here's to these three lessons. May their positive outcomes help shape my life.