From Cordgrass to Mango:

A New Year Introspection on Dreams and Sucess

     Most people do not dream wisely, which is why they fail. I want you to have good dreams and make them real, which is why I am calling you to ponder your dream. 

     As this year starts, it is essential to mention a few things. While I work on my Mango Book Mangifera indica (support me through MY SUBSCRIBESTAR to speed up its release), I know there is a need for introspection. Reflection allows for one to learn from the past to make a better future. At the same time last year, I was knee-deep in graduate work, and during this, life was nothing but Prairie Cordgrass Spartina pectinata. It was like that for the previous two years as well. The perennial grass that could grow well over 4 feet in a pot and over 6 feet in the field with its rough leaves, culms continually forming at the base, and white, yellow, or even purple flowers at the top make it very distinctive. Keeping several plants in a greenhouse for seed production guaranteed something to do every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Maybe the first year plants needed bigger pots. The second-year plants needed new soil. Some plants needed splitting up while they were dormant, while other flowering speciesism needed to have their heads bagged. Even if nothing extravagant needed to be done, watering over 60 specimens could take a chunk of the morning. Slew survive-and-thrive plants like these enjoy flooding, and with the greenhouse’s heating and conditioning set continually breaking, the plants were always in danger even in the university greenhouse. While every graduate student had various upkeep, the strain on the people was constant. This is not including homework, appeasing advisors, daily living, constant poverty, experiments that generally fail, and it is no surprise why many people quit.

     With all of my oddities, why did I survive and complete my final oral exam last year in August? It is worth thinking about because a Plant Science M.S. is no small feat. No longer was I a grunt researcher but now a person with a Master’s in Plant Science. Whatever work I now did was not the work of a peon in a college desperate to achieve what few things mattered but now was the work of an academic desperate to achieve what few things mattered. Gone were the days of a ‘lacking education’ (even though in undergrad, I walked away with two majors and certification) because now I had a spoon of alphabet soup next to the last name. Before completion, my weird questioning, pondering out loud was a cause of concern, but now, excused as an academic’s idiosyncrasies. Some might even say that the erratic behavior shows that my personality fits those ivory towers. While not a Doctorate, a Master’s significantly increases my income in my field and would make any promotion easier to gain. In psychology, it is a well-known fact that women tend to be attracted to high-status, high-earning men, which means that a degree would make me more successful in matrimony matters. 

     With all of these benefits, one could easily say that I succeeded in life. I achieved something less than 20% of the population could do. I am in a practical field of Plant Science where there is always a demand for someone to grow, kill, genetically modify, or organically develop plants. Many factors helped me succeed, but today’s under-discussed topic is that some people foolishly pursue their dreams.

     See, most people pursue the perks of the degree. When it comes to perks, a higher value of time and energy, good education, social scapegoating, financial security, and even a more straightforward time successfully dating are not wrong at all. However, there was a much deeper reason why it mattered. For a long time, I wanted to write, not just for high minded academics but also for the salt of the earth types soaking from honest labor. Any writings and musings I have ever had on plants have gotten one of two responses from publishers. Either silence or a short letter back saying that I was not qualified because I lacked the proper credentials. As my dreams of publishing anything found silence and denial, it became clear that writing any nonfiction that mattered required some letters at the back of my last name. The fiction I write is overgrown with plants. They are often just as significant as actual characters in the story. If I failed to earn this master’s, it would call into question if I could write about plants. My soul would certainly bloat from all the foul musings. Thankfully, I earned it right and proper, so such questions are unnecessary to answer. 

     Ironically enough, the people that most commonly dropped out of graduate school were the ones that wanted to be successful. The people who joined advanced programs, envisioning the perks, were those who failed in the end. It was a trial that broke most people. While strange plants are an inherent joy to work with, continually surprising and enticing the researchers tasked with experimenting on them, they also can be challenging to work with. They were the ones that dropped out quickly, usually in the first or second semester. The tedium of working with non-domesticated plants outshone their novelty, and many quit right after another failed experiment. Even if those poor souls could tolerate the failure, the plants’ upkeep often drove several up a wall, squeezing more time out of their constrained schedules. The constant pressures, demands, and their own scholastic mistakes quickly piled up, resulting in strained if not broken bodies. Many quit because their health deteriorated to the point of causing permanent damage as much as any other reason. For them, money and popularity were not worth the work, which is understandable. Proving to myself and the world in a way that they could recognize that I was a writer of truth and tales, of plants and people, food, and life, required a Plant Science Masters. No is unacceptable. 

     Most people that enter a graduate degree program make the mistake of thinking that they are sowing cordgrass seeds instead of growing an orchard of mango trees. A grain or a grass bears a reward within a year, but a tree takes years before the first harvest. Some dreams are cordgrass where there is a reward in a season. Other dreams are like mangos, where one must take precautions and prepare for years of slow growth before any hope of a fruitful season can come. Are you growing grass expecting a tree? Are you growing a tree hoping for grass? What are you growing readers? If you take the time to figure it out, you have a greater chance of succeeding. What are you growing?

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