The Grad School Analogy

I’ve finally found the perfect analogy for grad school. Grad School is like taking a flight. (and hopefully not Oceanic Flight 815) Here’s why.

When you decide to go to grad school, it’s like planning an exotic vacation. The possibilities are endless when you decide that you have money and time and ultimately will be rewarded by a better standard of living when it is all said and done. The warm, sandy beaches of the Bahamas? Yeah, that’s you sitting in your new post-graduate career collecting a larger paycheck. That guys who the resort provide to get you margaritas at will? Those are you minions, you newly minted manager! Order another round, just for the hell of it. The only way the margarita guy can decline is if he gets on a grad school plane to a new career himself. Huh-HA!

So part of the fun in booking a vacation is arranging the travel plans. There are many modes of transportation, from flying to the dreaded road trip. Flying is a lot more expensive, but it’s quicker, and something new. This is grad school. You pay for the knowledge and the subsequent degree, and then enjoy the vacation sooner. Climbing the corporate ladder with experience as your bargaining chip? That’s the car road trip. Costs less, takes much longer, and requires you to do the navigating. The only navigating with Airship Grad School is finding your way to the rental car place when you get out of the airport.

(The rental car, by the way, is the job search process for your next position.)

There are many flying options available, as there are also many grad schools from which to choose. Some have more prestige associated with the name (Wharton, Harvard, Delta, United). Others have cost as their selling point (Strayer, Independence). It’s good to find the Southwest of the bunch – good value, nice sounding, and in a convenient metro-accessible terminal. Hello, GW.

You get to spend all summer telling people how excited you are that come August, you’ll be flying your way to a better life. The euphoria lasts through check-in and baggage check. Of course, you had no idea that this airplane requires you to buy seatbelts from the airport bookstore, and at that point, has a monopoly on these mandated flight requisite items.Had you know, you would have bought your seatbelts on eBay of Half.com.

That’s ok, you’re still feeling fine and excited to be in a vehicle that’s not your gas-guzzling car. Now the first semester of class is equivalent to the flight’s takeoff from the airport. No matter how busy you are, you are excited to see how it all begins. Looking out the window as the landing gear leaves the runway, you don’t mind being back in the habit of reading textbooks and writing papers. Everyone around you is doing the same thing. And there aren’t any babies crying…yet.

Once up in the air, you’re on your own to keep yourself excited. There may be an in-flight movie that you’ve wanted to see for months, but your current job doesn’t give you time to run to Blockbuster. This rivals that tremendous Human Dynamics prof you had that made time fly by with his delivery and presentation. And getting back that first ‘A’ from a paper you worked all night on instead of focusing on the fun being had at WM Homecoming ’04? That’s the refreshment cart for you. You’ve got an A so far in this class! Have some pretzels and a Sierra Mist!

The captain comes over the loudspeaker. “Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but due to some turbulence, the seatbelts you bought in the airport are no longer relevant. We are charging your credit card for a new one, and will do that two more times during your flight. I hate textbooks.

As you get into the meat of the flight, time starts to take its toll. The in-flight video has switched over to some guy droning on about making wicker chairs. Similarly, you’re trying to keep your head from banging the desk in Business Strategy. And the A’s are harder to come by, too. You check the pockets of the chair in front of you to see if someone from a prior flight left their pretzels. It’s not that you couldn’t work your absolute hardest to get up and ask the flight attendant for more. The flight has just worn you down.

Then the baby starts to cry. Welcome to a third semester of incompetent group work.

And just when you have totally abandoned the thought that flying is “so not cool,” the plane comes down below the clouds. The destination is in sight. Granted there’s a lot more hassle at the very end awaiting you – papers, finals, that guy who insists on being reclined ‘til the bitter end – but the flight is over.

Just don’t forget to show at graduation – your diploma will be arriving at Baggage Terminal 6.