The lure of the participation trophy

As I ponder the effects of the “write every day” model I have utilized (more or less) for the last nine months, I realize some definite positives, but also some real areas for concern. If I had not been writing every day, things would be much worse. I would still be very far from having a proposal ready to submit. My head would not contain nearly as coherent a set of ideas—ideas that somehow, through daily writing, have taken shape and arranged themselves.

But too often, I find myself viewing my daily writing session as sort of a daily "bucket list" item, something that must be checked off so I can go to bed without guilt. Too often, I participate in a nearly worthless writing session, either because I am too tired to think straight, or because I didn’t get around to making a writing plan.

I say “participate” to emphasize that I am accomplishing nothing worthwhile—I am like a student who comes to class just to get a participation grade. An ignorant onlooker might even think that I am one of those people who think I should get a grade, or a degree, or money, or something, just by participating, even if I didn’t learn anything or accomplish any objective. In reality, I don’t think this at all—I know that merely participating in an activity does not suffice to reap the rewards reserved for those reaching excellence. I am definitely not a member of the “everyone should get a trophy” camp. I don’t expect anyone to give me a degree for writing 30 minutes every day, even if I manage to do so for years. In fact, now that I’ve tackled this Ph.D. program, my other degrees seem like participation trophies by comparison. For my B.S. and my non-thesis M.S., all I had to do was take classes and check them off a list. When I checked off everything on my list, I got the trophy. The dissertation is not like this at all—I actually need to produce something of a certain quality level. My paper must be approved by a committee of experienced research professors, who are willing to stake their professional reputations on their assertion that I am capable of conducting independent research and writing for academic journals.

In my math classes, I often encounter students who seem to think that just showing up every day is enough. Perhaps there are some who actually expect to pass simply because they came to class and paid attention, and will think it is unfair for them to fail the class, even if they fail all the tests. I think this is rare—most do not expect participation to trump knowledge. But some believe that participation produces knowledge--if they simply come every day, pay attention, and ask questions, they will automatically learn enough. In other words, they do not expect to receive a grade they did not earn, but they expect that mere participation will give them the required knowledge to earn that passing grade.

Do I have similar expectations about my writing? Am I assuming that simply showing up to write every day will result in my learning how to do research and write a worthy paper? Do I expect that, merely because I slap my fingers against computer keys for at least 2.083% of each day’s minutes, knowledge and skill will travel by osmosis into my brain?

My logic says no, but my actions say otherwise. It is so tempting to slide into a pattern of laziness, in which I pretend to be working hard but my brain is only half-engaged. Learning a difficult skill, whether writing, swimming, or anything else, requires a high level of mental effort. Am I willing to invest what is needed? Are you? If instead, I continue to settle for mediocrity, do you think my institution will eventually give me a participation degree?