My Doctoral Dilemma
Once upon a time, not long ago but just enough to get nostalgic. There I was a kid from the block name Delante who could break down a brick, a bureaucracy, and a bar chart with equal flair. Born with the soul of an orator, the curiosity of a cat with a library card, and a slight addiction to Ted Talks, I never thought I’d end up here: staring at PhD programs like they were Pokémon cards and now I had to pick one. But let’s rewind real quick.
I wasn’t even supposed to be in college. Let’s start there. The plan was hustle, not higher ed. College was for sitcom characters or kids who played cello at age five, not for someone who was cutting a 8th of heroin at the age of 15 and not get high or sick. But one day, after hanging up the grind, he looked his homeboy in the eye and said, “I’m going to college.”
Simple. Direct. Like signing a contract with his future. Terms and conditions unknown, benefits questionable, but it came with vibes, and a vision.
From that day forward, I started chasing knowledge like I used to chase money: relentless, calculated, all gas no brakes. While some folks were still getting to the money, I was flipping through articles on racial disparities and structural inequality. Algorithms replaced alleys. Credit hours replaced digital scales. And I found that same high, not in the come-up, but in finally understanding why my community got the short end of the policy stick time and time again.
Fast-forward to now. Degrees earned, research done, papers dropped like mixtapes. And suddenly, my inbox looks like a sociologist’s dream mixtape drop: Brown, Northwestern, Michigan, Rutgers, UCF, USF, Princeton, Yale have all showed interest. My dining room table looked like a college fair had exploded all over a vision board. Each school had its charm (and drama):
| University | Pros | Cons |
|---|---|---|
| Brown | Interdisciplinary heaven | Might get asked if he is the diversity initiative |
| Northwestern | Elite methodology game | Winter so cold it’ll freeze your ambition |
| Michigan | Sociology royalty | Rent so high you’ll need a side dissertation |
| Rutgers | Right near home | And also everyone from home |
| UCF | Sunshine and familiarity | Might get recruited to teach half the cousin circle |
| USF | Palm trees and proximity | Gators and grad school? Risky combo |
| Princeton | Prestige on lock | May require an endowment-sized ego adjustment |
| Yale | Brand so heavy it needs a handler | But will his hoodie get side-eyes on the quad? |
At one point, I made a spreadsheet weighted by “faculty fit,” “fellowship potential,” and “nearest spot to buy Hot Cheetos.” Gotta have the Hot Cheetos!
Late one night, I was laying there and thought: This really happening. I’m over here choosing between all these programs like I’m at the academic NBA draft.
It wasn’t lost on me how wild that was. I was the boy who once used public libraries for the free AC and was now scrolling through emails from Ivy Leagues like they were post on “X”. Mr. Jenkins, a friend of mine I still keep in touch with. Old hustler from 147th. When I told him what I was going to get my PhD in 3 months ago, he said, “Boy, sociology ain’t nothin’ but organized nosiness.” And maybe he was right. But I have turn that nosiness into a life mission and a ticket to the top.
The choice hasn’t been made yet. I’m still weighing it, touring campuses, peeping syllabi, praying over stipends, and making sure whatever decision I make feeds my purpose, not just my ego. This isn’t about vanity, it’s about victory. About transforming the kind of insight the block gave me into policy, into research, into a blueprint for equity.
And wherever I go, that institution better make space.
Because DI’m bringing timbs, truth, and a dissertation sharp enough to cut through red tape and ivory tower illusions. “AMEN”
