During my internship time in New York that summer of 2011, I felt that the city didn’t look anything like me. It was fast, turbulent. The infatuation I had felt when I first arrived disappeared like smoke, and I was left with a feeling of emptiness. I also found early on that the values of the United Nations, where my internship was based, did not align with mine.
Around that time, I received a call from a former university teacher with a proposal to teach at the Islamic University in Lebanon.
This was kind of surprising for the young graduate I was, as even my own university did not hire until much (much!) later.
“If you don’t find a place for yourself there [in New York], there is a place for you here [at the Islamic University].”
“I do not even have a PhD, and I have yet to earn my master’s degree.”
“The offer is here.”
I have always been a risk-taker. My friends told me I was crazy for leaving the US; I was excited to see what lay on the other side of the mystery. I gave it a go. Little did I know… I would end up spending the best eight years of my life there. (I write about this in the next article, which will be published tomorrow.)
Back then, I had already started teaching at university. I started with simple classes. As I gradually earned the trust of the department, I was assigned heavier theory and translation classes.
Later, when I decided to pursue my PhD, I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it in the shortest time possible. Time equalled money. I was aware of the costs that came with delays, and I didn’t want what befell others to befall me. I had seen colleagues spend years on their PhD dissertations: some spent nine years in the process; some never graduated. “This is not going to the case for me,” I thought.
I decided to take a sabbatical.
And so it was.
I took a three-year hiatus from professional work to focus on my PhD. I had been working since I was 14 years old. When I took this sabbatical, it was quite paradoxical: I was taking a break from one kind of work to focus on another (!). This was a different kind of work.
I wrote my PhD thesis in three months. My draft was so very well-written that my supervisor took it with her on the plane to read it.
The first year, I spent it in Lebanon; the second, I earned a scholarship to the University of Montréal; and the third, I was in Granada. A few months after my return, I entered the Zaarour Room for my viva.
Lo and behold, the president of the university, p.j. Sélim Daccache, was invited to preside over the jury. I graduated with honours.
I talk about the defence discussion in a subsequent article.
Some came at me and told me that I was able to write my thesis in such a short time because of this break, which many cannot afford: I beg to differ.
If I had all the time in the world but no discipline, I would not have been able to do it. People see the honours but are blind to the effort poured behind the scenes, the discipline it takes to achieve excellent results in short sprints of times, and the mental strength required to perform well continuously. For three years, I did not rest; during the three months I spent drafting, I did not take a break.
However, I never considered those sacrifices; I was on a journey. One that tremendously enjoyed. I did not return to the academic world after that, but that didn’t seem like time lost.
Pursuing a PhD doesn’t always have to come with an expectation. It can be an adventure. My stay in Montréal was one of the most rewarding experiences I have ever lived; it transformed how I see the world. My stay in Granada greatly altered my perception of myself.
I guess the transformative power of an experience was—and still is—what I look for in all that I undertake.
—R.