Guest post by Marianne Brasil, a recent PhD graduate from UC Berkeley’s Department of Integrative Biology
The last moment of “normal” life that I can remember really clearly is a lovely evening spent with friends, taking a brief and much-needed pause from dissertation writing to belatedly celebrate my birthday. That was the evening of March 6th, 2020. Even as I enjoyed the company of friends that night, I was constantly thinking about the months ahead and managing worries about looming chapter draft deadlines. I had no idea what the next few months would bring.
In early March, my plan was to file my dissertation at UC Berkeley by the mid-May deadline, and then to start as a postdoctoral researcher at the Berkeley Geochronology Center [http://www.bgc.org/]. I was frequently daydreaming about my plans to head to Spain as a visiting researcher for fieldwork in mid-June. As I write this in mid-July, I’m sitting in my home office trying to stay cool as a heatwave passes through in Austin, TX, where I’ll be working remotely as a postdoc for the foreseeable future. The events of the past few months feel like a blur, and I’m still reeling from the sharp change of course.
March was a strange month, but the really odd part was that it didn’t feel that strange at the time. In January and February, I’d spent the better part of every day sitting at my desk at home, writing, revising, and often holding my head in frustration, pushing my dissertation closer and closer to the May 15th finish (/dead)line. In early March, when the ‘Shelter in Place’ order in my county was implemented, the impact to my day-to-day life was actually relatively minimal. Other than missing a few weekly trips to campus and one or two weekly outings to a favorite restaurant as a break from writing, my daily experience was mostly the same as before COVID-19 really started to impact the Bay Area.
Three exceptions to this sense of normalcy do, however, stand out as really memorable. First, remembering to grab a mask and hand sanitizer on the way out the door to walk my pup, and then having to bob and weave around neighbors to keep a six+ foot distance between us. Second, the stressful first experience of grocery shopping with my partner, who’s trained in sterile lab techniques and exceedingly careful about minimizing potential exposure (it’s clear that I’m the paleontologist in the family, more familiar with the hazards of dirt and superglue). This grocery shopping adventure resulted in us deciding that grocery deliveries were probably a less stressful option moving forward, although that was not without some humorous mishaps (e.g., a replacement of six pounds of our favorite snack, in-shell sunflower seeds, for six pounds of sunflower kernels – enough salad topping for the next six months, at least). And the third memorable exception to a sense of normalcy: calling my parents daily to reassure them, and repeatedly stressing the importance of their careful actions for their own health, and for the greater good of public health.
Things started to feel less and less normal in April, when it became more and more clear that the impact of COVID-19 would be long-lasting and far-reaching. Around this time, it became apparent that my plans to travel to Spain would need to be significantly postponed. It was also around this time that my partner lifted our spirits by accepting a dream job for a small company based in Austin, TX. Sitting in our apartment just north of Berkeley, without a yard, unable to enjoy any of our surroundings in the Bay Area while paying university-subsidized but still excessive rent costs, we decided it made perfectly good sense to move to Austin where we’d at least be able to afford some outdoor space. But before we could make the move, I needed to clear the daunting hurdle of (finally!) finishing and submitting my dissertation.
I have a tough time remembering April and early May, probably because I’ve subconsciously blocked the memory of back-to-back-to-back 12+ hour days stress-writing at my desk, with my pup providing moral support from under my chair. Focusing on writing and revising in the middle of a pandemic required silencing all notifications, banning myself from checking any news sources, and keeping a constant supply of coffee at hand (the latter of which I can thank my partner for). Somehow, by mid-May, after multiple rounds of revisions with my committee members, I had a finalized draft ready to submit. But, I still needed the approving signatures of my committee members.
One of the most bizarre parts of filing a dissertation in the middle of a pandemic was collecting the three signatures that would finally seal six years of my life and grant me a PhD. I drove to my advisor’s house, where she had left my signature page on her front steps, bearing the signatures of two of my committee members, and had thoughtfully taped two congratulatory lollipops to the envelope (more on that below…). She came out to wave at me and congratulate me from her patio (a good ten feet away, of course) and we said our goodbyes, complete with air hugs. With two signatures in hand, I only needed one more. The following day, I coordinated with my third committee member to meet on a street corner near his house. We met on a walking path, under the train tracks, and I set down a clipboard with my signature page on a bench and backed away several feet to maintain a safe distance between us. After a brief and socially distant exchange, I thanked him, we wished each other the best, I picked up the clipboard, and we parted ways. I got back into my car, took off my mask, sanitized my hands, and immediately scanned my completed signature page with my phone (lest anything unexpected happen on my six-minute drive home).
The months between filing my dissertation on May 23rd and today somehow simultaneously feel like days and years. After the anti-climactic feeling of filing my dissertation without the anticipated graduation and celebration with loved ones, my partner and I packed our life into a 16-foot-long shipping container and said our socially-distant goodbyes to friends and family in the Bay Area. Leaving our home state, and our home in Berkeley of ten years, without being able to give our closest friends and family a hug brought out the bitter in the bitter-sweetness of this new beginning. With mixed feelings, we loaded up our car at the end of May and started the 29-hour drive from Berkeley to Austin, stopping only to give our puppy (and ourselves) bathroom breaks, fill up our gas tank, and make quick stops to see our families. Stopping on the side of CA Interstate 5 to see my parents in a Taco Bell parking lot, and again further south to see my partner’s family in a Red Lobster parking lot was surreal, to say the least, but was the closest thing to closure we got as we left California.
Fast-forward past the weeks of getting moved in and settled in our new home in Austin, TX, and today I’m spending my days mostly reading for new projects and writing up old ones, interspersed with Zoom meetings and short breaks to chase my pup around the yard. A couple of weeks ago, Berkeley Graduate Division [https://grad.berkeley.edu/] mailed me my “Phinally Finished” lollipop, keeping the decades-old tradition alive and providing a little bit of comfort in something that feels just a tiny bit normal, but also feeling like a relic of a time long ago. I have no idea what the remaining two years of my postdoc will look like in the midst of COVID-19, but for now I’m choosing to reflect on the few silver linings that have come with the experience of the last few months. I’ve built in ways to keep in touch with family and friends in ways that I likely wouldn’t have, had it not been for the months of isolation. In the absence of social outings and trips to favorite restaurants, I’ve tried new recipes, taken up embroidery, planted a garden, and learned how to make my mom’s bread – the smell and warmth of it bringing a little piece of familiar comfort to my new home. And lastly, I’ve been able to stay connected to my intellectual family back in Berkeley. Even though over a thousand miles now lie between us, I’m able to forget about that distance when I see everyone together on Zoom. Even though the next few years are fogged with uncertainty, every day I’m comforted by the steadiness and support of my intellectual family, and my motivation rekindled to keep doing science and to keep making our scientific spaces better places for anyone who wants to join us.