Category: the PhD

stretching.

stretching.

You’re supposed to breathe deep when you stretch. I was in a stretch class last Sunday, my legs hovering over the ground in a split position as I silently preached this to myself. “Breathe into it, Vivienne, relax….” the mantra so counter to all that […]

being stuck

being stuck

“You just feel stuck.” The words sunk in my heart like stones. “Stuck,” she pushed around the soggy quinoa on the plate with her fork, “you know, when you don’t know where to go from here.” I had added too much water to the quinoa, […]

the garden city: cultivation, work and goodness

the garden city: cultivation, work and goodness

For many, summer means long, lazy days. We stretch our sunscreen-lathered bodies out on pool deck chairs, soaking up as much sun-baked warmth as we can. The days stretch similarly, expanding to accommodate as much goodness as we try to squeeze it with. For me, […]

bridging interfaces

bridging interfaces

We need to do a better job of intentionally putting ourselves at interfaces. A simple example from this past weekend. I’m in Boston with my sister, partly to celebrate her 23rd birthday with her (tomorrow!) and partly to be her moral support as she speaks […]

my PhD, a mountain

my PhD, a mountain

I think mostly in metaphor. Especially for concepts that I struggle to wrap my mind around, reducing them to pictures makes them  fold up into pocket-sized pieces that fit nicely into the cupboards of my world. This week, the metaphor I kept returning to – […]

even still, I believe

even still, I believe

So, I haven’t been in this space for a while. Honestly, it’s been hard to sit down and really write. It’s comparable to leaving the light and descending into that basement studio where a slab of marble awaits its sculptor. Not that I’ve ever sculpted […]

the reality of starting a PhD in a new city

the reality of starting a PhD in a new city

I’m curled up in a little corner at Tommy Cafe, a beautiful respite of vintage-white in the heart of Old Montreal. A centrepiece of verdun-green vines hang from the ceiling. Waiters bustle about, delivering glazed raisin croissants, mochas with cream swirled into a leaf. My […]