A Master’s dissertation needs to be perfect; it has to be on a topic that really sparks my interest, it has to fundamentally advance a discipline, and it must find me a good job.
This is, pretty much, what I thought in 2013 when I was nearing the end of my programme; the question ‘what is your dissertation on’ was popping up with increasing frequency in conversations with friends and strangers alike. I needed an answer. I spent months agonizing, evaluating, and then discarding countless ideas. Then, Eureka! I stumbled on a very exciting, recently published piece of research which had even propelled its author onto a TED stage: who doesn’t want to write a dissertation on something attached to a cool, easily shareable fancy keynote? I drove three hours to meet with not one, but two of my professors, and bestow on them my grandiose research idea; they enthusiastically punched holes into it until every last shred of confidence I held in my abilities had been thoroughly obliterated. They then offered me a coffee, which was nice of them.
Shattered and discouraged, I approached a young professor who had recently joined the university, and asked her to give me a topic on which to work for my dissertation (this is common practice in many universities in Italy). Pure luck – or great intuition from a common acquaintance who organized our first meeting – had it that she had just acquired a brand-new dataset and was looking for help analysing it. I reluctantly drove back to the campus again and dragged myself to her little office, stowed away under the roof of the main building. She spoke, I listened. She explained, I understood (sort of). She showed passion for the topic, and empathy towards me; I found hope for myself, and respect for the topic. In the following months she patiently guided me as I wrote my dissertation: along the way I got incredibly excited, stumbled, learned new things, fell repeatedly (mostly metaphorically, although I did manage to break a foot along the way), and got it done. I found joy in doing research; the joy of slowly becoming an expert on something, however niche and inconsequential it may have been. I also found fear: the fear of not discovering anything or proving anything; the fear of writing something stupid, or of being told ‘this is not good enough’. Moments of exhilaration and moments of despair ensued, multiple doubts gnawing at me: What is my argument? Why will my R code not work? Why do all the empirical studies say one thing, while the theory happily cruises in the opposite direction? What is a dissertation anyway?
In the end all went well, even better than I could have hoped. I am not entirely sure what this story might mean to you, but the message I hoped to get across is this: writing a dissertation is messy. Doing research is messy. Life is messy. Uncertainty and doubt are at the heart of any process of discovery, academic or not, so be reasonable and kind when you set your expectations. Finally, never be afraid to ask questions, even ones that may seem banal: when in doubt about your dissertation reach out to your supervisor, a professor, a friend, or a Study Adviser at LSE LIFE. It is your research, but you are not alone.