April 15th has come and gone. I have yet to hear back from University of New England Place or University of Northern State, despite having sent emails to the respective admissions coordinators inquiring about the status of my application. I am still in purgatory.
But I've more or less come to terms now with the idea that I won't be attending graduate school this fall. In the ultimate scheme of things, this isn't as much of A Huge Setback as I'd like to think, and I understand that. In a way, I feel better now, knowing I've been rejected everywhere, than I did throughout February and March, unable to take any specific direction or make any concrete plans with so many unknowns to factor in to decisions.
Still, I don't relish the thought of the next 12 months, of another summer spent trying to make solid contacts with potential advisers, of another autumn spent filling out application form after application form, of another winter fretting over whether or not I'll be accepted somewhere. And I'm certainly not looking forward to that infamous and nearly impossible task: Finding a Good, Career-Relevant Job.
I loathe job-hunting. It's time-consuming. It's tedious. It's disheartening. For every 10 applications I fill out, I might, just maybe, if I'm very lucky, hear back about one. And no, I don't mean "get an interview for one," just hear back about one, usually, "we regret to inform you that..."
"We regret to inform you..." has been the headliner in a lot of my emails lately. I'd really love to read "We're pleased to inform you..." or even, "Congratulations!"
Most of my job-hunting has centered around government factions, including the USFS, the USGS, and the USFWS. When state-government jobs pop up, I'll occasionally apply for one. I have no qualms about independent agencies, and I'd be more than happy to work for a non-profit or one of the big conservation organizations.
Most of the ecology-related jobs out there, however, are temporary, seasonal positions, summer fieldwork meant to occupy an undergraduate's time between semesters. There don't seem to be a lot of positions suited for a graduated-last-year-and-didn't-get-into-grad-school-and-desperately-need-work-to-beef-my-credentials-for-next-year's-application-season-and-wanting-a-good-field-job-that-will-carry-me-through-the-year-but-not-looking-for-anything-long-term candidate. Which is, in part, where all the federal positions come in, because many of them are listed as "term positions not to exceed 13 months."
Perfect!
Now if I could only get one....
For the first time in my life, I don't really have anything to look forward to. I'm not excited for the summer, because I don't have a job or interesting fieldwork lined up. I'm not excited for autumn, because I probably won't be going back to school, which means I'll be working. I don't have any exciting trips planned or projects to work on or exciting new opportunities looming on the horizon. I feel a little stuck. And though I'll probably look back on this time in my life and recall this uncertainty and unhappiness only vaguely, right now August of 2011 seems very far away.
So my goal lately has been this: Accept life as it is, and try to enjoy the good parts about it, whenever you can. Part of this involves learning to live more in the present instead of constantly thinking about the future. I've always had a tendency to look as far ahead as possible, to plan out bits and pieces of my coming life, even if they're months or even years away. I'm trying to see this as an opportunity to focus more on the day-to-day aspects of my life, and to keep my aspirations for the future intact while letting my plans go.
A few weeks ago this song popped up on my Pandora station. It's called, "Life is a Song," by Patrick Park. I'd never heard it before, but it really stuck with me, so I downloaded it from iTunes and burned it on a mix CD that I've been playing in my car. It's become the soundtrack to this period of my life, and I've been trying to really listen to it, particularly the last stanza,
"And we build our house of cards/
And then we wait for it to fall/
And always forget how strange it is/
Just to be alive at all."
You can listen to the entire song, if you want:
A few days ago, I was browsing through various graduate-school related blogs, and chanced across a post written by gigirose about non-attachment, or the idea that higher states of consciousness can only be achieved when we're unconcerned about what something looks like or how it's supposed to go. As part of this post she included the following video, a short animation developed from the recordings of British philosopher Alan Watts. I watched the video and it struck something in me. I've watched it several times since then, and I think you should watch it, too. It very simply expresses a common principle of modern society, and suggests an alternative way to view our lives that I'm going to try, in the coming weeks, to emulate.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
The Animal Interest
I've been thinking a great deal lately about what interests people in wildlife, and the types of things that draw certain people towards certain species and away from others. What is it, for example, that influences someone to want to become an entomologist, or an ichthyologist, over, say, an ornithologist or herpetologist? What is it that makes one person very fond of sharks but wary of snakes? Or fond of snakes but aversive to bees? Or interested in salmon but not so much in bats?
What draws people to certain species or groups of species over others? Is it genetic? Does it come from the environments in which we're raised? Some form of experiential learning? Imprinting at an early age? Or some combination of these things?
If I were asked by someone what my favorite animal/species is, I wouldn't be able to give a concrete answer. The truth is, I don't have a single favorite. But I could easily name a range of animals of which I'm very fond, and would have a keen interest in studying and/or seeing first-hand in the wild. I could also easily rank the taxonomic groups of animals in terms of those that I like most and those in which I'm less interested. But what exactly is it about my particular make-up (genetic or otherwise) that has led me to feel this way?
I was recently talking with a friend about the specific factors that influence how "exciting" a particular species is for someone to encounter first-hand. I thought back to all the animals sightings I've considered "special" and rehashed them in my mind, trying to pinpoint what they all might have in common. Then, my friend did something that made me realize, instantaneously, just exactly what it was that made certain encounters stick out amidst others.
"Hey," my friend said. "Check out this cool bird I took a picture of the other day. I've never seen one before. It was really pretty!"
I looked at the photo he showed me. It was indeed a bird, with a striking yellow bill and dark, iridescent plumage, covered in flecks of tan.
"Uh, that's a European starling," I said.
"Huh," remarked my friend. "Neat-looking bird. I was really excited when I saw it. And I got a pretty good photo, too."
"Yeah," I said, "except they're as common as trees around here and they're a highly invasive species. They out-compete a lot of native species, threatened species, for nesting sites."
"Seriously?" he asked. "I had no idea."
And then it came to me.
Of course.
So simple.
My friend was excited about encountering a starling because it wasn't something he'd seen before. To him, it was an "uncommon" species. The same reason seeing a lynx one summer almost had me wetting my pants, but that I hardly take the time to look at an eagle nowadays. The same reason mallards and Canada geese and deer sometimes seem boring, but American avocets and cinnamon teal are always worth getting the camera out.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized how strongly this phenomenon (if it can be called such) is tied to conservation, or perhaps more directly, conservation strategies. People are willing to fork out cash to conservation organizations to save the panda, the polar bear, the tiger, the gorilla, but they never give thought to the species that are languishing in their own back yard. For some reason, "I see them all the time" has become acquainted with, "They're not worth protecting."
This can become a major hurdle in developing countries. Areas in the tropics, which have the greatest biodiversity of any habitat on earth, and contain some of the most unique assemblages of species, are of great concern in terms of conservation, for reasons beyond which I'll go into here. But some of the biggest issues in trying to protect the remaining parcels of uninhabited or undamaged land lies in the local peoples' apathetic response to the plight of what they consider a "common" species.
I remember, vividly, being awed at seeing two gorgeous species of toucan while in Belize, and watching the local people go about their daily business without a second glance. Didn't they realize how incredible that bird was? How outrageous? How unique? How could they just ignore it? How could they not stop and marvel at the tiny paths beaten down by hordes of leaf-cutter ants, or the dinosaur-like tracks of a tapir?
I realize now, of course, (as I did then, to some extent) that seeing those things on a daily basis made them all a little less interesting, a little less unique, and ultimately, less important that getting the wash done and feeding the kids. Just in the same way that I was completely entranced the first time I saw a bald eagle, but barely gave a second thought to the one I saw a couple weeks ago.
The same problems fester on at home, too. Americans fret for the plight of the African elephant, the red panda, the blue whale, but drive too fast at night on poorly-lit roads to avoiding hitting deer, dump poison down prairie dog holes and raze the hillside so their cows won't break their legs, set mice traps in their garages during the winter, and buy the adjacent empty lot to their house so they can put in a pool and a swing set for the kids.
Sometimes I wonder if more ecologists should focus more on domestic conservation issues... resist the draw for the foreign, the exotic, the romanticism of adventure, and focus on matters close to home.
Erm... not that I'll end up doing that myself, when I do start my research.
What kind of animals do you like most? Or are you more of a plant person? Fungi? Microbes? Do you know why you have that particular preference? When was the last time you had an exciting encounter? What exactly was it about your sighting/discovery that made it impressionable?
Think about it.
What draws people to certain species or groups of species over others? Is it genetic? Does it come from the environments in which we're raised? Some form of experiential learning? Imprinting at an early age? Or some combination of these things?
If I were asked by someone what my favorite animal/species is, I wouldn't be able to give a concrete answer. The truth is, I don't have a single favorite. But I could easily name a range of animals of which I'm very fond, and would have a keen interest in studying and/or seeing first-hand in the wild. I could also easily rank the taxonomic groups of animals in terms of those that I like most and those in which I'm less interested. But what exactly is it about my particular make-up (genetic or otherwise) that has led me to feel this way?
I was recently talking with a friend about the specific factors that influence how "exciting" a particular species is for someone to encounter first-hand. I thought back to all the animals sightings I've considered "special" and rehashed them in my mind, trying to pinpoint what they all might have in common. Then, my friend did something that made me realize, instantaneously, just exactly what it was that made certain encounters stick out amidst others.
"Hey," my friend said. "Check out this cool bird I took a picture of the other day. I've never seen one before. It was really pretty!"
I looked at the photo he showed me. It was indeed a bird, with a striking yellow bill and dark, iridescent plumage, covered in flecks of tan.
"Uh, that's a European starling," I said.
"Huh," remarked my friend. "Neat-looking bird. I was really excited when I saw it. And I got a pretty good photo, too."
"Yeah," I said, "except they're as common as trees around here and they're a highly invasive species. They out-compete a lot of native species, threatened species, for nesting sites."
"Seriously?" he asked. "I had no idea."
And then it came to me.
Of course.
So simple.
My friend was excited about encountering a starling because it wasn't something he'd seen before. To him, it was an "uncommon" species. The same reason seeing a lynx one summer almost had me wetting my pants, but that I hardly take the time to look at an eagle nowadays. The same reason mallards and Canada geese and deer sometimes seem boring, but American avocets and cinnamon teal are always worth getting the camera out.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized how strongly this phenomenon (if it can be called such) is tied to conservation, or perhaps more directly, conservation strategies. People are willing to fork out cash to conservation organizations to save the panda, the polar bear, the tiger, the gorilla, but they never give thought to the species that are languishing in their own back yard. For some reason, "I see them all the time" has become acquainted with, "They're not worth protecting."
This can become a major hurdle in developing countries. Areas in the tropics, which have the greatest biodiversity of any habitat on earth, and contain some of the most unique assemblages of species, are of great concern in terms of conservation, for reasons beyond which I'll go into here. But some of the biggest issues in trying to protect the remaining parcels of uninhabited or undamaged land lies in the local peoples' apathetic response to the plight of what they consider a "common" species.
I remember, vividly, being awed at seeing two gorgeous species of toucan while in Belize, and watching the local people go about their daily business without a second glance. Didn't they realize how incredible that bird was? How outrageous? How unique? How could they just ignore it? How could they not stop and marvel at the tiny paths beaten down by hordes of leaf-cutter ants, or the dinosaur-like tracks of a tapir?
I realize now, of course, (as I did then, to some extent) that seeing those things on a daily basis made them all a little less interesting, a little less unique, and ultimately, less important that getting the wash done and feeding the kids. Just in the same way that I was completely entranced the first time I saw a bald eagle, but barely gave a second thought to the one I saw a couple weeks ago.
The same problems fester on at home, too. Americans fret for the plight of the African elephant, the red panda, the blue whale, but drive too fast at night on poorly-lit roads to avoiding hitting deer, dump poison down prairie dog holes and raze the hillside so their cows won't break their legs, set mice traps in their garages during the winter, and buy the adjacent empty lot to their house so they can put in a pool and a swing set for the kids.
Sometimes I wonder if more ecologists should focus more on domestic conservation issues... resist the draw for the foreign, the exotic, the romanticism of adventure, and focus on matters close to home.
Erm... not that I'll end up doing that myself, when I do start my research.
What kind of animals do you like most? Or are you more of a plant person? Fungi? Microbes? Do you know why you have that particular preference? When was the last time you had an exciting encounter? What exactly was it about your sighting/discovery that made it impressionable?
Think about it.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
The Not-So-Great Week
Entitlement can be a dangerous belief. Even when used casually, as in "I believe I deserve this," it can lend false hope to an otherwise unrealistic situation. Such is the story of my life for the past couple weeks.
I've been reluctant to post this week because, although I've had concrete information to share for the first time in over a month, none of it is positive. I wasn't awarded an NSF GRF. And I received two more rejections: UC Somewhere Else and Yet Another UC both rejected my application, and on the same day. So now I'm 0 for 5 for graduate school, and I have no funding to convince cash-strapped schools I'm worth taking in.
I've well aware of the fact that I might not get accepted to graduate school this year. But somewhere, deep down, is that little part of me I can never seem to kill. It's the part that says, "Don't worry. You can't possibly be rejected everywhere. Something will come through. You're being overly-worrisome. There's no way you'll have to spend another year working. There's no way you'll have to re-apply in the fall."
Shut up, hope. You're not making this any easier.
There is only one school remaining to which I applied that hasn't yet informed me of an admissions decision: U of New England Place. Tuesday morning, after having been notified that I didn't receive an NSF award, I emailed the graduate admissions coordinator at UoNEP to inquire about the status of my application. She responded that she'd contacted the PI I'd applied to work with and the admissions coordinator in the ecology department and was waiting to hear back from both. She apologized for the delay in response, and assured me she'd try and "have the decision expedited."
At this point, I'd be extremely reticent about accepting an offer from UoNEP. I haven't had contact with the PI... he seems to be either ridiculously slow or completely uninterested in responding to emails, which makes me think that he might not be the best type of adviser to have. Certainly not the type of adviser I feel I need: supportive, encouraging, responsive, enthusiastic, and always willing to help.
That leaves, I suppose, one other chance for me to go to graduate school in the fall. A new professor at, lets call it U of Northern State, has received funding for two graduate students to do Interesting Work with (borrowing the title from Karina) Critters on conservation-related Questions. The work falls mostly within the realm of my experience and overlaps with many of my research interests and goals. Although there is inherent risk involved, I think it could be fun to work with a new professor, and it might provide the opportunity for more guidance and one-on-one contact than in well-established, populated labs.
I sent the requested information in to to this new professor a couple weeks ago, and I'm hoping I'll hear back from her soon. She might be looking for prospective students with more research experience than I have, and she did state that she'd prefer someone that had worked with Critters or Things Like Critters before, which I haven't. But I'm sure I could do this type of research, and I hope that came across in my cover letter. I'm also hoping that enough prospective students have already accepted positions at other schools to make the competition for the two spots in her lab a little less fierce.
-------------------------
I tried to keep my chin up this week... I really did. Bad news followed by bad news followed by slightly worse news wasn't quite enough to really set me off. But on top of it all, I've been having some serious problems at work. See, Debbie has developed this idea that, since she's paying me to tutor Trina, I should help her with all her homework. And by "help," she actually means, "do most of it for her."
That's right... background research, making flash cards, project ideas, model construction, diagram labeling, speech-writing, essay construction-- you name it. She expects me to get on the internet and find all the information Trina will need for a project, then spoon-feed it to her, or even better, just show her what she needs to write or construct. And when I protest, and try to reason with Debbie, explaining that Trina isn't learning anything this way (except that it's easier to pay someone to do something for you than to do it yourself), she insists that "Trina can't do it alone," or "she just doesn't have time to do it," and what results is me spending hours doing Trina's homework while she tries to hide the fact that she's sending text messages to her friends and complains about school.
But hey-- I'll probably get straight-A's in all her classes.
It's not enough that the situation frustrates me to no end, but to add insult to injury, the more time I spend doing Trina's homework, the less time I get to spend working in the barn. It was particularly tough this week, as the weather here was gorgeous and sunny, and I wanted nothing more than to be out running barrels in the arena or long-trotting on the trail.
I'd hoped that the weekend would brighten my spirits, but so far it's only served to remind me that jobs are at a premium right now, and I'm going to have to do a lot of applying to have any hope of scoring a field job for the summer.
I feel the need to apologize to all my readers now, because I know it can't be much more fun for you to read about all this doom and gloom than it is for me to write it. I really do wish I had better things to say, that I had exciting opportunities awaiting me, or that I'd received good news or a promising lead. But right now I haven't, so all that's left is the plain truth--the actual state of things-- and it's just not all that great right now.
And to top off a week of unfortunate events, yesterday my little curly-tailed rat, Rizado, started showing signs of a serious respiratory infection, complete with a lot of wheezing and very labored breathing. I'm going to do my very best to get him to a vet early tomorrow morning for antibiotics, but in the interim, it's hard to watch him breathing so hard, and in such obvious discomfort. It's a shame that vet offices aren't open on weekends, and that very few vets understand how to properly treat small animals like rats. Respiratory infections can become very bad very quickly in rats. I just hope that tomorrow will be soon enough to get him seen and started with an effective treatment.
I've been reluctant to post this week because, although I've had concrete information to share for the first time in over a month, none of it is positive. I wasn't awarded an NSF GRF. And I received two more rejections: UC Somewhere Else and Yet Another UC both rejected my application, and on the same day. So now I'm 0 for 5 for graduate school, and I have no funding to convince cash-strapped schools I'm worth taking in.
I've well aware of the fact that I might not get accepted to graduate school this year. But somewhere, deep down, is that little part of me I can never seem to kill. It's the part that says, "Don't worry. You can't possibly be rejected everywhere. Something will come through. You're being overly-worrisome. There's no way you'll have to spend another year working. There's no way you'll have to re-apply in the fall."
Shut up, hope. You're not making this any easier.
There is only one school remaining to which I applied that hasn't yet informed me of an admissions decision: U of New England Place. Tuesday morning, after having been notified that I didn't receive an NSF award, I emailed the graduate admissions coordinator at UoNEP to inquire about the status of my application. She responded that she'd contacted the PI I'd applied to work with and the admissions coordinator in the ecology department and was waiting to hear back from both. She apologized for the delay in response, and assured me she'd try and "have the decision expedited."
At this point, I'd be extremely reticent about accepting an offer from UoNEP. I haven't had contact with the PI... he seems to be either ridiculously slow or completely uninterested in responding to emails, which makes me think that he might not be the best type of adviser to have. Certainly not the type of adviser I feel I need: supportive, encouraging, responsive, enthusiastic, and always willing to help.
That leaves, I suppose, one other chance for me to go to graduate school in the fall. A new professor at, lets call it U of Northern State, has received funding for two graduate students to do Interesting Work with (borrowing the title from Karina) Critters on conservation-related Questions. The work falls mostly within the realm of my experience and overlaps with many of my research interests and goals. Although there is inherent risk involved, I think it could be fun to work with a new professor, and it might provide the opportunity for more guidance and one-on-one contact than in well-established, populated labs.
I sent the requested information in to to this new professor a couple weeks ago, and I'm hoping I'll hear back from her soon. She might be looking for prospective students with more research experience than I have, and she did state that she'd prefer someone that had worked with Critters or Things Like Critters before, which I haven't. But I'm sure I could do this type of research, and I hope that came across in my cover letter. I'm also hoping that enough prospective students have already accepted positions at other schools to make the competition for the two spots in her lab a little less fierce.
-------------------------
I tried to keep my chin up this week... I really did. Bad news followed by bad news followed by slightly worse news wasn't quite enough to really set me off. But on top of it all, I've been having some serious problems at work. See, Debbie has developed this idea that, since she's paying me to tutor Trina, I should help her with all her homework. And by "help," she actually means, "do most of it for her."
That's right... background research, making flash cards, project ideas, model construction, diagram labeling, speech-writing, essay construction-- you name it. She expects me to get on the internet and find all the information Trina will need for a project, then spoon-feed it to her, or even better, just show her what she needs to write or construct. And when I protest, and try to reason with Debbie, explaining that Trina isn't learning anything this way (except that it's easier to pay someone to do something for you than to do it yourself), she insists that "Trina can't do it alone," or "she just doesn't have time to do it," and what results is me spending hours doing Trina's homework while she tries to hide the fact that she's sending text messages to her friends and complains about school.
But hey-- I'll probably get straight-A's in all her classes.
It's not enough that the situation frustrates me to no end, but to add insult to injury, the more time I spend doing Trina's homework, the less time I get to spend working in the barn. It was particularly tough this week, as the weather here was gorgeous and sunny, and I wanted nothing more than to be out running barrels in the arena or long-trotting on the trail.
I'd hoped that the weekend would brighten my spirits, but so far it's only served to remind me that jobs are at a premium right now, and I'm going to have to do a lot of applying to have any hope of scoring a field job for the summer.
I feel the need to apologize to all my readers now, because I know it can't be much more fun for you to read about all this doom and gloom than it is for me to write it. I really do wish I had better things to say, that I had exciting opportunities awaiting me, or that I'd received good news or a promising lead. But right now I haven't, so all that's left is the plain truth--the actual state of things-- and it's just not all that great right now.
And to top off a week of unfortunate events, yesterday my little curly-tailed rat, Rizado, started showing signs of a serious respiratory infection, complete with a lot of wheezing and very labored breathing. I'm going to do my very best to get him to a vet early tomorrow morning for antibiotics, but in the interim, it's hard to watch him breathing so hard, and in such obvious discomfort. It's a shame that vet offices aren't open on weekends, and that very few vets understand how to properly treat small animals like rats. Respiratory infections can become very bad very quickly in rats. I just hope that tomorrow will be soon enough to get him seen and started with an effective treatment.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
The NSF GRFP
After carefully reviewing the National Science Foundation's announcement dates for their Graduate Research Fellowship Program, or GRFP, from previous years, I was almost certain they'd announce this year's recipients on April 9th. It seems in years past, they've almost always sent out emails on Fridays or Mondays, so to get the email this past Tuesday morning, the 6th, was unexpected.
I'd convinced myself that this week would be good for me-- great, even. After all, I had it coming, right? Especially after having put so much work into my undergraduate education and then waiting so many months hearing nothing but bad news. So I was disappointed, although not particularly surprised, to read the title of the email in my inbox: "NSF GRFP Honorable Mention Notification."
No, I was not awarded a Graduate Research Fellowship. I did receive an honorable mention.
On the one hand, it makes a lot of sense. This was my first time applying for a major grant. The proposal I used was (to my mind) unique and exciting, but something I'd adapted from a course assignment completed several months previously. I didn't spend a great deal of time modifying it to fit the submission criteria, and I certainly didn't spend hours agonizing over the little details-- what to include, what to omit, this word or that one, this reference here or there.
Additionally, as I've been coming to understand more and more over these past few weeks, I'm still considered very young and rather inexperienced in the field of ecology. I may feel prepared for graduate study, but there are others who have more field seasons accrued, more research experience, more publications, more contacts. And I'm sure there are plenty of people who've applied for the GRF more than one time. There's something to be said for having gone through several rounds of the application process, if for no other reason than the fact that the feedback given by reviewers may prove to be useful to applicants in subsequent years.
On the other hand, I can't help but feel a little cheated. I suppose having received the honorable mention is better than nothing, but, as one of my undergraduate advisers noted, it really seems like runner-up in a beauty contest and no money to write home about. Realistically, it's nothing more than another line on my CV, and in the long run, who's really going to care about that? I think in some ways my disappointment is made all the worse by the fact that so many GRF's were awarded this year. 2000 applicants received fellowships this year-- 752 more than were awarded last year, and 1087 more than were awarded the year before that.
I suppose there's something to be said for having applied. I'm more familiar now with the guidelines for GRF proposals, and I'll be better prepared next year for the formatting, if nothing else.
But, while one round of the application process may increase my awareness for margins and page limits, I'm not sure it has helped my understanding of what exactly reviewers are looking for. My rating sheets, written out by the three individuals that reviewed my proposal and personal statement, simply lacked any sort of constructive criticism, save for one review, which said that my proposed outreach was "a bit vague" and that I could have "developed laboratory methods more fully." Well, let me tell you... If the NSF allowed more than two pages to construct a graduate-level study complete with background information, methods, potential results, scientific and societal impacts, and references, I'd be glad to elaborate on laboratory methods and community outreach. As it is, the topic required a good deal of introductory information to make sure that anyone reviewing would be able to understand the premise of the study. Throw me a bone.
Apart from those two comments by one reviewer, everything else was highly positive. The phrases "exceptional academic background","great GPA and GRE", "outstanding LORs", "strong promise to be one of tomorrow's leaders", "demonstrated leadership", and "good knowledge of the scientific process" all made an appearance in my rating sheets. It may just be me, but those all seem like comments about an award-worthy individual, or at least someone that's well-suited to graduate study. If that's the case, I have trouble seeing why I wasn't one of the lucky 2000, and even more so, why I haven't been accepted to grad school yet. How many people apply for the NSF GRFP every year, anyway?
I will admit, the hardest blow of not having received a GRF came in relation to my applications themselves. I'd convinced myself that having a GRF in hand would greatly increase my chances of acceptance to the three schools from which I hadn't yet heard. In truth, it very well may have paved the way for me to start my graduate studies. But I suppose it's no use dwelling on those thoughts now, and I'll just have to wait and try again next year.
I'd convinced myself that this week would be good for me-- great, even. After all, I had it coming, right? Especially after having put so much work into my undergraduate education and then waiting so many months hearing nothing but bad news. So I was disappointed, although not particularly surprised, to read the title of the email in my inbox: "NSF GRFP Honorable Mention Notification."
No, I was not awarded a Graduate Research Fellowship. I did receive an honorable mention.
On the one hand, it makes a lot of sense. This was my first time applying for a major grant. The proposal I used was (to my mind) unique and exciting, but something I'd adapted from a course assignment completed several months previously. I didn't spend a great deal of time modifying it to fit the submission criteria, and I certainly didn't spend hours agonizing over the little details-- what to include, what to omit, this word or that one, this reference here or there.
Additionally, as I've been coming to understand more and more over these past few weeks, I'm still considered very young and rather inexperienced in the field of ecology. I may feel prepared for graduate study, but there are others who have more field seasons accrued, more research experience, more publications, more contacts. And I'm sure there are plenty of people who've applied for the GRF more than one time. There's something to be said for having gone through several rounds of the application process, if for no other reason than the fact that the feedback given by reviewers may prove to be useful to applicants in subsequent years.
On the other hand, I can't help but feel a little cheated. I suppose having received the honorable mention is better than nothing, but, as one of my undergraduate advisers noted, it really seems like runner-up in a beauty contest and no money to write home about. Realistically, it's nothing more than another line on my CV, and in the long run, who's really going to care about that? I think in some ways my disappointment is made all the worse by the fact that so many GRF's were awarded this year. 2000 applicants received fellowships this year-- 752 more than were awarded last year, and 1087 more than were awarded the year before that.
I suppose there's something to be said for having applied. I'm more familiar now with the guidelines for GRF proposals, and I'll be better prepared next year for the formatting, if nothing else.
But, while one round of the application process may increase my awareness for margins and page limits, I'm not sure it has helped my understanding of what exactly reviewers are looking for. My rating sheets, written out by the three individuals that reviewed my proposal and personal statement, simply lacked any sort of constructive criticism, save for one review, which said that my proposed outreach was "a bit vague" and that I could have "developed laboratory methods more fully." Well, let me tell you... If the NSF allowed more than two pages to construct a graduate-level study complete with background information, methods, potential results, scientific and societal impacts, and references, I'd be glad to elaborate on laboratory methods and community outreach. As it is, the topic required a good deal of introductory information to make sure that anyone reviewing would be able to understand the premise of the study. Throw me a bone.
Apart from those two comments by one reviewer, everything else was highly positive. The phrases "exceptional academic background","great GPA and GRE", "outstanding LORs", "strong promise to be one of tomorrow's leaders", "demonstrated leadership", and "good knowledge of the scientific process" all made an appearance in my rating sheets. It may just be me, but those all seem like comments about an award-worthy individual, or at least someone that's well-suited to graduate study. If that's the case, I have trouble seeing why I wasn't one of the lucky 2000, and even more so, why I haven't been accepted to grad school yet. How many people apply for the NSF GRFP every year, anyway?
I will admit, the hardest blow of not having received a GRF came in relation to my applications themselves. I'd convinced myself that having a GRF in hand would greatly increase my chances of acceptance to the three schools from which I hadn't yet heard. In truth, it very well may have paved the way for me to start my graduate studies. But I suppose it's no use dwelling on those thoughts now, and I'll just have to wait and try again next year.
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