Once the thought of getting a PhD no longer made me cringe, I revived the abandoned browser tab with the Utah State University PhD posting that caught my eye. The thought of working on the project tugged up the corners of my mouth. The thought of applying engaged my fight or flight response.

Feeling inadequate, imposter syndrome making me doubt my qualifications, I called my PhD candidate friend. I needed validation. I sought his permission to take this huge step, unable to make the decision myself due to my incompetence. Telling me things I already knew about myself but refused to believe at that moment in time, he bolstered my confidence and told me to apply.

With zero experience writing a CV vice a resume, my CV looked foreign and underwhelming. Needing more validation, I sent it to my friend. He reassured me that I presented myself well. Am I really ready for this if my friend needs to hold my hand throughout the entire process? Only one way to find out! With all files attached, I clicked Send, and off my application went.

Then came my least favorite part after submitting any type of application. The waiting.

The Ecological Society of America hosts a listserv that I subscribe to. Dozens of emails appear in the folder I created for the listserv so as not to overwhelm my inbox or myself. Every once in a while, I click on the folder with over a thousand unread emails and scan through the subject lines from the previous week or so, rarely opening a single one. The day after submitting my PhD application, I opened the folder.

“Ecolog-L funded PhD position at Univ Nevada Reno in soil water dynamics” stared at me from a subject line. Hmm. Interesting. Click.

The posting itself spoke to me, the writing more than the content. Instead of simply reading black letters against a white background and interpreting them as words and sentences, I felt warmth from the words. While still written in a professional tone and conveying relevant information, the posting felt inviting, like an old friend contacting you out of the blue because they’d been thinking of you and wanted to catch up.

After reading the posting I felt like the professor just placed a warm cup of cocoa in my hands on a cold day. With zero hesitation, I meticulously crafted another PhD application and hit Send.

Less than an hour later, the professor responded, thanking me for my application and letting me know he’d be in touch the following week. Less than an hour later! No wondering if my email got lost in cyberspace or his inbox. Getting this response still meant waiting, mind you. But the simple acknowledgement of receiving my application turned my waiting room into a cozy cabin with a fireplace, I sat in front of on a comfy couch with hot cocoa in hand instead of a cold, sterile room with a hard, squeaky chair and Reader’s Digest from the early 90s.

Five days later I received an offer to interview from the USU professor. I Google Boxed “how to prepare for a PhD interview,” and visited a million websites, filling my OneNote with questions to attempt to answer. My nerves vibrated with anxiety just thinking about the interview, the temperature around me increasing by several degrees, and sweat slowly soaking into my shirt…

My shirt!

Of course I applied for PhD positions while visiting friends, where I brought minimal clothing options with me. Looking in my reusable shopping bag serving as my suitcase, the fanciest top I brought with me lay crumpled at the top — my flannel. At least it had pearl snaps?

I considered asking my friend if I could borrow a nice top but thought better of it. I already feel uncomfortable in fancy clothes, and by fancy, I mean anything one considers “nice” for a trip to Walmart. I feel like a little kid dressing up in a businesswoman costume for Halloween. Plus, dressing nice in the natural resources world usually means busting out your button-up hiking shirt and hiking pants with no rips or stains. I did at least iron the flannel before my interview.

When the professor popped up on Zoom I instantly noticed the flannel under his puffy vest. I chose wisely. The interview went swimmingly despite the soaked state of my flannel pits by the end. I don’t think I have ever laughed so much during an interview! But in the end, it still felt like an interview with set questions and note taking on his end, and me desperately attempting to string words together into cohesive and possibly intelligible sentences (I use that term loosely) with the hopes of conveying my competency despite my rambling.

Then came my least favorite part after an interview. The waiting.

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