For the past few months, I have wrestled and wondered about the importance of finishing my Ph.D. program. I figured , I could read the same books and have the same stimulating conversation with the brilliant, Black minds without the neverending deadlines. But, every week, I find myself mining through the books and conversations, trying to push Black hope just one inch further. I admit, there are moments of guilt and resentment, when I see brothers and sisters in the midst of the struggle, while I am sitting at my table trying to analyze the political theology between Tommie Shelby, Charles Mills and John Rawls.
Ph.D. coursework feels like an infinite fight between two futile adversaries and no one wins.
This constant need to be in the fight is a strange calling; it is a call to something that is greater than you but appears to register your being. Honestly, coursework has the same feeling but it operates in a different mode. There is another type of calling that pulls at different places of the spirit –an overwhelming, that transforms into a refreshing and/or a bullet.
How you view and experience the bullet is the strange place…