I started a PhD, but that wasn’t a hard choice for me: everyone (male) in my family’s recorded history (that’s up to the Reformation) has had at least one, I graduated in Statistics meaning half the job was done -- and I had an interest in applied science, meaning financing was doable, and I would go though it protected by the guarantee that I wasn’t eyeing for that one single position every one of the fifteen candidate was hoping to get.

It was great in amazing ways, and hard as hell: Great because I could spend a week reading someone’s detailed complete work (yay!) and literally say: There is one footnote in that paper that no-one read that I think is bullsh-t; the only copy of the book referenced in in another country, and they won’t send a scan; can I go there and check? I talked to Nobel laureates, and got my ideas crushed beyond recognition… That was fun.

The bad part was… I was fairly fragile psychologically before (six of my close friends committed suicide in the years prior, I had a couple of severe depression episodes prior) That was rough -- like a sea can be rough. A PhD is not an intellectual challenge: doing something no one has done before means that even if you are dumb as a bell, you are going to move the needle forward. Actually most PhDs that I’ve seen were basically applying an existing method to a very similar problem, or marginally improving it. A PhD is a crash test of your personal fortitude. You will cry, and feel lonely, and consider destroying it all (be it suicide, drugs or moving to Peru and herd goats); you will do that again, and I haven’t seen anyone defend unless they were tired of that, not anything related to their research.

I didn’t finish it (weird circumstances in the definition of Economics and a topic that evolved a lot, turning an intellectual curiosity into something so controversial that the last e-mail I received about getting relevant data read: ”Do not try that. You will end in jail.”) but what I’ve learnt is priceless. It was a daily riot, but one that no-one could really ever understand. Finding an emotional connexion was… wild every time. Conferences are a very out-of-body experience because you meet people with the same sex-life as yours (none, because your significant other both works too much, like you, lives too far, like you, and has emotions you don't relate to either). Also, they kind of get what you do, which is almost weird, and almost dirty, but not well enough for you to actually admire their comments, but then you make your own comments, and you realise how out of touch you both are with each other, and… it’s an odd connection. Think Lost in Translation, or actually most Wes Anderson’s movies.

Actually making a PhD is fairly simple. The needed contents are fairly simple -- it’s pretty much asking: is this true, finding a way to check it; making two related side-checks… and you are done. But reaching that can be surprisingly complicated, and therapeutic, and a shockingly bumpy ride.

My experience was a bit les typical because I’ve helped several dozen people go through it: being a one of the few statistician in the lab (and dating a medical student) meant I helped colleagues (and her friends). Plus I know how to use LaTeX quite well; it’s the software to type the damn thing; because Microsoft Word forfeits years before you are done. Yeah, because research is pretty much a parallel computing experience. I’ve been embedded in most PhD projects I’ve came across: people freak out a lot. They don’t know how to ask for help, and the impostor syndrome reaches somatic levels.

I’ve learnt to admire unconditionally some of the young assistants (the person helping you: imagine cynic seniors squared), their boundless dedication, their talent, their ability to repeatedly, mercilessly, shamelessly unravel, and destroy and rebuild someone by asking “And… So what?” only twice.

I’ve witnessed what ‘very senior academic’ means: politely listening; a pause of respectful and thoughtful silence when you are done; one question, one genuine, simple, almost-too-obvious-once-you-hear-it question. And three years of your life just exploded. Not sure if you are from a generation that spent their childhood watching the anime ‘Ken the Survivor’, but the guy Ken does karate, and he barely touches someone on seven spots, and nothing happens, but then they explode? Same thing, but with just one touch.

- “I’m not sure if I understand the role of repeated interactions in your model.” Hesitation… Boom. Three papers, four years of sweat… all to be entirely re-done.

- “Is your proposed scheme corruption-proof?” Kapooch.

It’s glorious, and necessary, and less painful if you apply large doses of alcohol to survive the blow.

There are things you can only learn with a PhD. I usually classify understanding and tuition in a simple way (self-education isn’t formalised, so it's hard to fit but most examples match, time-wise):

* vocational studies tell you how to apply one set of tool;

* Master’s tell you how to choose the proper tool;

* PhD lets you invent your own tools.

I works for medicine, Arts and a couple of other areas.

It does make being told what to do suck a lot, lot more, though.