I would like to speak (read: type) to you today about a strange and beautiful phenomenon I have recently discovered. However, before we get into the revelations, some background information is necessary. I know, it seems like revelations should just happen to you, effort-free. I apparently think they should be difficult.
I am an undergraduate Animal Biology student who has recently entered into the wondrous realm of ~Research~. I capitalize this and surround it with ceremonial squiggles of importance because it is the Holy Grail of accomplishment at the University of Alberta. You might have thought you were going to university to gain practical skills and higher knowledge that would eventually, I don't know, employ you? The University does not understand this idea. The University thinks that you have come here to learn about the fantastic, the wonderful, the epiphany-inducing, panty-dropping art that is: ~*~Research~*~. They would like nothing better than if you never got a job and just stayed happily ensconced in the loving embrace of Mother Research forevermore.
So. I recently began Research. Because of my involvement with Research, I began to interact with these alien organisms called "Professors" and "Graduate Students", who I had always assumed were simply necessary structures at a University and who I had never thought of as being people, per se. But as I got to know Professors and Graduate Students, I realized that they are just like you and I: they have thoughts, they have dreams, they even have beards. Beards that might represent a certain sadness. (But that is a rant for another day. If you are interested in Sadness Beards, I recommend this provisional reading in the meantime.)
Over time, **!Research!**, that capitalized wonder that I had always scoffed at and sort of resented, became...I grit my teeth...enjoyable. Yes! I admit it! The sweet songs of Lady Research had lulled my spirit and soothed my soul. Research is a saucy minx, and she knows just what to warble in your ears, like a cheeky songbird who knows you all too well. We all know what those tweety little bastards can be like. I thought to myself, Sarah, you could be a ~~Researcher~~. So rather than fight the evil urges within me, I embraced them. And how better to embrace your future potential than to find yourself a cozy situation in which you will live in a plywood hut and research squirrels in the Yukon?
So I find myself a cozy situation in which I will live in a plywood hut and research squirrels in the Yukon. This is an example of something that we in the biz call Field Work. You may think that I gratuitously capitalize too many words, but you will soon find that Field Work is worthy of the sarcastic emphasis. Because if Research is the Holy Grail of accomplishment, then Field Work is...the Holier Grail. Of more accomplishment. Charisma, I have it.
Field Work is the life you left behind when you moved the big city. The pastoral landscape you once inhabited, free from the woes of modern society. The simple life, when it was just you and Ma and Pa and Ol' Bessie, the reliable but now aged dairy cow you raised as a young lad. Field Work represents a better time, when people knew what was good and right, and we didn't have a life fraught with Sorrowness Beards. We had Outdoorsy Beards when we did Field Work, Outdoorsy Beards of Joy. We pranced with the wild animals and drank the sweet nectar of Mother Nature. We didn't worry about writing up our research, or doing anything relevant to really progressing our careers, if we're being honest. We just were. We existed in harmony with the universe.
And this. This is the phenomenon I'm about to finally get at. If you ever want to know what someone's face looks like before they enter a cinematic dream sequence, in real life, mention the two magical words to a Professor or Graduate Student: Field Work. When they hear that you are off to find yourself in the fabled land of Field Work, a few key events will unfold right before your eyes.
First, if they happen to be a nice person, they will ask a bit about the Research you are about to embark on (this step is optional - they may simply launch themselves into the next step, unable to help themselves). Second, their eyes will glaze over as they break eye contact with you. Their gaze will become hazy as they lose grasp of the physical world around them, a fog falling over their visage. They may lean back in their chair, or clasp their hands in a melancholy way. Third, they will utter a phrase. There is no one specific phrase that always escapes, but it will be something like this: "yeah, Field Work is awesome."
And then you know you've lost them. You may as well slowly rise from your seat, gather your belongings as silently as possible, and tip-toe slowly out of the room. It's the kind thing to do. Let them enjoy the peaceful meditation they have entered. They are revisiting their youth, imagining themselves scaling a great mountain or wrestling a cheetah to the ground (whatever they picture, they probably haven't actually done it). They're saying, "Bessie, I'm home."
