I made what I think was a classic blunder, responding to the wrong thing. I read your post about being among academic superstars, then responded not to the points you made, but to something from my own experience, which was that, while I can identify with the desire to emulate someone of superstar caliber, I have had the experience of once getting to know a “superstar” just enough to discover that in person he, well, didn’t exactly line up with the expectations he happily allowed his fans to have of him. It was a bummer of the kind Ralphie, in “A Christmas Story”, had when he discovered the Little Orphan Annie Secret Decoder was a scam to sell Ovaltine. So when I said “superstar-schmuperstar” I was thinking of that guy, but didn’t bother to explain it and ended up coming off like some sniping cynic, I think.

The other day I heard a guy on the radio who had a command of his topic that was plainly the result of the kind of “superstar” dedication you were talking about. “Ohhh,” I thought, “that’s what Ashley meant.” And I recently had the privilege of hearing two very different (Children’s Lit and Astronomy, go figure) “academic superstars” at the Harvard Club, so I should have known better, but hey it was late. So… I felt like I should come back and clear up the “schmuperstar” thing.

Anyway, Happy New Year, and may you never meet a schmuperstar!

Now that I’m finally nearly done with grad school, what I’ve learned is that whether you pursue academics, or some other direction, if you like what you do and take pride in your work, then you already ARE a superstar. And chances are that if you don’t see it, someone else probably does.

Ashley, you may yet become a superstar (whatever that is) but I bet it won’t be by climbing anyone else’s mountain. You do have a remarkable gift for writing, and the inclination to use it; that’s a start right there. And indulge me while I go out on a limb and say God may yet provide the rest of the equation at the right time.