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I’ve stopped wallowing in the “I feel so alone!” pity party I subjected myself to for the first month or two.

You don't know what you're getting into until you're in it; even now, I'm not so sure what I'm in.

It's scary and exciting for exactly the same reason: The possibilities are endless.

Some things must be worked through, and that takes time.

I think it makes sense for people who aren't satisfied to air their grievances, but it's important to do it constructively and strategically.

“Our recent personal history teaches us that what we will most likely receive when we seek guidance is a swift kick in the pants.”

"Do I need to learn to rely on my own desires, the rest of the world be damned?"

I'm standing up a little straighter and taller than I used to, wobbling less and faking it less, and caring a little less what other people think.

Although I am a huge fan of the Internets (thank you, Senator Stevens), I am profoundly thrilled by what can happen when you talk to strangers, upside-down-face to upside-down-face, in a place such as a yoga class.

Is it ineptitude or something worse?

Most people would say I've made all the correct calls, but I'm still disappointed with how it's all come out, even if I have learned a lot in the process.

I resisted the urge to cuss him out, jump, scream, or otherwise make a fool of myself, and we both rediscovered something "cool" about the project.

"At first, I didn’t tell anyone. I faked the funk. I didn’t want their pity. I didn’t want them saying, 'well I’m so sorry,' while thinking, 'glad it wasn’t me.'"

I won't be confined by other people's notions of who I am and what I should do. I'm starting to feel free.

People don't leave because they can't cut it; they leave because they find some other place that welcomes them, lets them express themselves, and rewards them according to their merits.

Family and friends are welcome to attend the final defense, and that's a good thing.

Micella Phoenix Dewhyse, Ph.D. -- now postdoc extraordinaire -- navigates the world of science at at U.S. national lab.

I've found motivation, desperation, and rage to comfort me in my later years.

Tallying every offense, every problem, every worry--and keeping them in mind-- creates crazy, ugly people with ulcers and bad attitudes.

My haggard "I'm tired, overworked, and just want to be quiet right now" look has, I've learned recently, been misinterpreted as a "get the heck away from me, I'm angry" look. I hadn't the slightest idea.