An Open Letter to Ph.D. Programs,

Even before I enrolled as an undergraduate you enticed me. Yep, I fell in love with the ivory tower. “Become a professor” felt like the perfect way to justify my bachelors degree in English Literature. No more eye rolls and patronizing sighs, as people ask “So what sort of jobs can you get with an English degree?” for me! I was going to be a professor--the pinnacle of intelligence and scholarship.

I get summers off! Perfect. I get to talk a lot! Even better! And people kind of listen? Hello Dream Job!

All jokes aside Ph.D. programs, I genuinely love you. I want to be in a program more than anything else. You have been all I have wanted for quite a few years now. I sit in my professors’ offices gazing at the books on their shelves, aspiring to one day sit in an office just like theirs with my books (perhaps with more windows though).

Oh Ph.D. program, you were the perfect way for me to actually get paid for what I loved doing. You were the way to enhance my knowledge, to immerse myself in my favorite subject, and to pass my knowledge unto others. You were the only job that actually appealed to me. The only job that allowed me to maintain my eruditeness, my creativity, and my dignity. Oh Ph.D. programs, why do you persistently seduce me?

Here’s the big issue, you’re a lie. That’s right, a big, fat lie. Perhaps it’s kinder to call you a fantasy, or fiction. Ph.D. programs how do you inveigle me, let me count the ways...

I’ve always considered myself an assiduous student. I work hard to maintain my GPA and have purposefully involved myself in extracurriculars and research that enhances the package of ME-- the dedicated English student. What is disheartening, though, is regardless of this, my chances of being accepted to a respectable Ph.D. program fall awkwardly around 10% or less--usually less. What’s worse is that there’s no such thing as a safety school or “backup.” This is no undergrad game. I can’t just get my bachelors degree at “an institution” and, as long as I work hard, I’ll be okay.

Nope. Not the case for you Ph.D. programs. By choosing to enter a less selective program, I would be assigning myself to a future of the abyss of unemployment. Considering that Ph.D. graduates from departments in the top twenty fill job positions at schools ranked in the top 200, unless I am lucky enough to be accepted to a top 20 program, I likely will not be able to land a decent paying academic job...or one at all.

Beyond this, even if I am deemed acceptable to join a top-ranked program, my problems would not end there. I will have to work diligently for five to ten years, slaving away on esoteric material that nobody, with the exception of my faculty advisor and a few classmates, will care about or actually read. I will alienate myself from normal life, as my friends take jobs with an actual salary so that they can actually afford going out to eat somewhere besides Taco Bell.

Suddenly, being embroiled in my subject seems less appealing when the people I graduated with have actual JOBS. Ph.D. programs, you coax me into being 25 and still in debt, with no actual job (minus the slave labor you generously bestow on me by allowing me to teach lower level undergraduate writing courses, or be a TA. YIPEE.) And you know the cruelest part, Ph.D. programs? Those jobs I aspire to have while sitting in my favorite professors’ classes, listening to them command the room with their fervent passion, won’t magically be there waiting for me after those professors retire. Ph.D. programs, you tease! Those positions often DIE with the termination of previously tenured professors. Wait, what? Seriously…

Oh, and Ph.D. programs, I was never a girl to be too fussed about money. Aside from in the practical sense, I never particularly aspired to be wealthy. But I want to make a living wage, especially after slaving away at your institution, pouring my little soul into my dissertation, and crying into my keyboard. I never wanted to be a starving artist, at least starving artists have work that the general public resonate with and cherish. I’m a starving scholar, who thrives off of recondite essays and jargon-filled papers. This abysmal future sounds terrifying, even to an idealistic undergraduate.

Now here’s what terrifies me, Ph.D. programs: My insistence that I can defy the statistics, my unimpeded belief that if I want something with enough zeal I can achieve it. Ph.D. programs, despite your obvious cruelty and somewhat pointlessness, I’m still hopelessly and irrevocably attracted to you. Yes, I wish I could sever my ties to you. I tried to convince myself to take the LSAT, or try and get an accounting job. I even thought about journalism, or maybe just working full-time at Starbucks. But I can't shake you, no matter how much I try.

I want to study English. I love it more than anything else and I have always been told to chase what I love. Yes, I might not get the coveted tenure position, maybe I'll crack under the pressure. Yet, the overwhelming regret I would likely feel if I didn't try is scarier than my job prospects as a Ph.D. So I will continue aspiring to be able to work as a researcher, a full time academic. Like a puppy, I keep jumping up, ready to plop into your lap, if you'll only let me. Perhaps one day I’ll gain a sense of foresight and old fashioned common sense, but for now I will assign myself to being quixotic. My idealization of you can’t be battered with a few scary articles on “Reasons Not to Get a Ph.D.” I will continue reading and ingesting knowledge with a belief that it will somehow bring me closer to you. I will keep asking for advice and ignoring it. For better or for worse, I am yours, Ph.D. programs.

Love Anita.