Unwritten: Choosing Curiosity in Uncertain Seasons

The first question I received from so many people after I completed my doctorate last year was, “Well, what’s next?” I know it was such an innocent and likely well-meaning question, but every time it threw me off balance a little. The truth is that I really did not know what was next. I already had a job that was reasonably aligned with my skills and education, and I knew the job market did not offer many promising pathways. I understood that in my career I am supposed to keep growing and improving, but toward what? I looked forward to resting, but after six years of hearing that little voice in the back of my head always tell me that I could be reading or writing or working toward the finish line of my program, I was not really sure what rest looked like for me anymore. I received more questions wondering whether I was open to moving to a new city. “Sure,” I said. Then, when the follow-up came, I had no idea what city or even region sounded good to me. After finally being bestowed the title “doctor,” and believing the sky was the limit, I had no idea where I wanted to go.

At every stage of the doctoral journey, there is a checkmark to cross off. From finishing coursework to comprehensive or qualifying exams, then the dissertation proposal, and, lastly, the dissertation defense. There is a road map with clear stops along the way. Usually along that way you are also pushing toward a career in academia, and there are metrics to help get you there: publishing in academic journals, presenting at conferences, teaching courses, or serving on committees. I had done all of those things to some capacity, but along the way I was unsure if that was the pathway I wanted to pursue. Eventually, the syllabus and requirements ended. 

Funny enough, I think my syllabus ended long before I could even see the end of my doctoral program. Before my PhD, my life looked so linear. In my early days as an undergraduate, I wanted to be a psychologist, so I knew graduate school and, most likely, a doctorate would be something I was going to pursue. While my career goal eventually changed to becoming a professor, the steps that lined up were pretty similar. First, I would obtain a master’s degree, then a doctorate, then a faculty position, then work toward tenure, then aim to be a chair or a dean. I thought, at 19, 20, and 21, I really had to have it figured out, and that there were passion and continuity behind the path that I had chosen. At such a young age, I felt disembodied by the idea of “wasting time” during a time in life where, I would now argue, we are supposed to explore. I recently participated in a dissertation study that asked me to reflect on my time in undergrad, and it made me realize that all of my co-curriculars were experiences I pursued to help get me to the next place. At that time, trying new things meant adding skills or experiences to my resume or graduate school applications. Even though I had hobbies, non-academic jobs, and other interests, I rarely stopped considering where those might take me if I took them seriously.

As I started to near the end of coursework in the spring semester of year two of my doctoral program, curiosity started to pull me away from that linear path to one where I followed questions and interests that kept burning inside of me. I was supposed to be studying multicultural centers, but my mind kept wandering to social media and how it is utilized as a tool to build communities, influence, and knowledge sharing. Up until this point, I do not know if I would have described myself as a curious person, or at least as someone who acted on those curiosities. By allowing myself to actually act on my interests, I realized how much I wanted to participate in what I was learning about.

Those interests led me to a role that looked nothing like the faculty path I had imagined. I found myself writing editorials, interviewing authors, thinking about Black love, and helping build community through storytelling rather than scholarship. I was able to move from simply studying how ideas moved through communities to participating in those conversations myself. It felt exciting because it was driven by genuine interest rather than chasing a new credential. It also felt risky. I worried I was drifting too far from the path I had spent years preparing for. Looking back, I can see that curiosity was expanding my definition of what intellectual work could feel and look like.

I had largely understood intellectual work as something that happened within the walls of academia. It meant producing knowledge through research, publishing, and teaching. Following my curiosity challenged that assumption. I began to see that ideas could be just as powerful when they were translated into stories, shared through digital platforms, or used to help people make meaning of their own experiences. My curiosity taught me that my intellectual life did not have to be confined to academia. I wasn't abandoning scholarship as much as I was discovering another way of practicing it. Ironically, following an interest that seemed unrelated actually helped me return to my research with fresh eyes and new questions. Learning about social media led me to think about storytelling and digital communities, which helped me reshape the way I thought about my dissertation.

While writing and research in a PhD program is intellectually rewarding, it can also be relentless. It was challenging to continue to scour hundreds of articles and books to be able to know anything and everything there is to know about your topic. After preparing to share this knowledge and analysis with your committee, the feedback still probes you to add more or search for more. That feedback made my work stronger, and I am grateful for it, but knowledge became never-ending in a way that was stressful rather than expansive. At times, the demands of the work can overshadow the joy of learning that inspired me to pursue it.  

After completing my doctoral program, I was searching for the version of myself that had once been able to learn simply because it captured my imagination. I learned that curiosity does not move in straight lines, but it can be cultivated when you need to call upon it. I borrowed my instinct to follow my interests. This past fall, I entered a stage where I did not have any academic writing assignments or readings due, and, honestly, I was too burned out from six years of a doctoral program to jump right into trying to continue publishing from my dissertation research. I did know, however, that I wanted to commit to continually learning. I deeply wanted to discover how learning could look and feel when it was not directly tied to productivity. I wanted learning to feel fun again.

Together with a few friends, we each created personal curricula that included three to four courses that we created for ourselves. All of our courses were tailored to our individual interests. I developed three courses: The Life and Teachings of Zora Neale Hurston, The Art of Hosting, and Hydroponics and Indoor Food Systems. We had a working session where we built a schedule that worked for us and found books, articles, and other materials to add to our syllabi. In some cases, we even included mini assignments or reflection activities to keep ourselves accountable to our learning goals. Looking back, I wasn't trying to replace graduate school with another curriculum. I was trying to reclaim the part of myself that felt delight in learning rather than dread.

When I removed an outcome from the equation, it felt so freeing to follow the threads that I had created. It didn’t surprise me that I enjoyed learning. What surprised me was how what I was learning inspired me to reignite my creativity. For years, I scoured over books and articles so I could analyze what the author had to say. Every article moved me one step closer to a paper or a stronger point of view. Last fall, I listened to an amazing podcast called Our Ancestors Were Messy. The episode was about Zora Neale Hurston and Langston Hughes’ friendship and later falling out. I loved the way the host, Nichole Hill, told stories and presented the extensive research she did. This is the podcast that actually inspired one of my courses because I wanted to know more. Beyond the course, the podcast made me realize that I had forgotten how to ask a much simpler question: what do I want to do with the information I’m learning? Outside of academia, I realized I wanted knowledge to leave the page. I wanted it to change the way I cooked, gathered people, decorated my home, and understood history. Learning stopped feeling like something I consumed and started feeling like something I could practice. Looking back, it makes sense that a podcast led to a book, then to growing herbs on my kitchen counter, then to thinking deeply about what it means to gather people around a table. At the time, none of those interests seemed connected. My curiosity revealed a pattern that these interests were building on each other and creating a new sense of alignment.

While I was having a joyful experience crafting personal curricula and developing passion projects, I also discovered how curiosity can be uncomfortable. I had moved into consulting after following an unexpected interest in social media and storytelling. While I was grateful for the opportunity, I often left work feeling more depleted, and I had started to become jaded. In the early days at my job, I was stretched in ways that felt exciting because I got to flex a different muscle than I had in academia. As time went on, that stretch started to feel more like a pull. Most days, I would say I felt like I had no idea what I was doing. Consulting and the doctorate are very similar in the aspect that people are looking to you to be the expert. Clients want you to move a project or team forward boldly using innovative strategies and grounded knowledge. I got my work done and closed out engagements, but I never felt confident in my own capabilities when it came to work. Friends and colleagues frequently reminded me that I knew more than I gave myself credit for, but reassurance never quite translated into confidence. I couldn't manufacture confidence by repeating affirmations. Instead, I became more curious about how the work was making me feel. What kinds of work made me feel alive? Which projects was I the most proud of? Which parts of my job left me feeling inspired and which left me feeling apathetic? Before I had the chance to follow those questions much further, I was laid off in May 2026. Even through the disappointment, I have realized it is important now more than ever to keep considering these questions because they don’t just define my career but also how I show up professionally and personally.

This time and space has begged to uncover what I truly think and believe about myself, my capabilities, and my passions. From seasons when I have been asked to constantly prove myself, reach the next achievement, or shake off rejections, I have learned to build my confidence around external validation. Completing a dissertation and being trained to complete academic research asks you to examine a problem and ask thoughtful questions continually. Those questions are meant to spark a conversation that fully surveys a subject from the inside out. After completing my PhD, being laid off, and transitioning to a period where I have been in the driver’s seat of my future direction, I have had to learn how to ask better life questions. So much of my identity has been tied to being a student and reaching for academic or professional achievement. Even now, it is easy to conflate my worth with how much I am or am not producing. Sometimes I still feel like I am less than because I don’t have a role or title to go alongside my current experience.

Being in the throes of uncertainty can invite a lot of self-doubt and pressure about the future. The questions have shifted from what’s next to what are you looking for, what do you see yourself doing, or how’s the job search going, but the feeling that I am supposed to know remains the same. In this season of curiosity, I am pushing myself to be comfortable not having a neat answer to some of those questions. Right now, curiosity is a tool to help me figure out who I am becoming. I am in the midst of writing and rewriting my story, hoping to understand how my path has been aligned the whole time. When there was a road map through degrees and a distinct career trajectory, I could easily see how my story fit neatly into each category. Now that things have shifted and opened up, it is up to me to connect the dots myself. I am at the center of my current research project. I am taking opportunities to try new things. I don't know if curiosity will lead me back to academia, into a new industry, or somewhere I haven't imagined yet. What I do know is that it has changed the kinds of questions I ask. Instead of asking what comes next, I find myself asking what feels worth following. For now, that is enough to keep me in the conversation of my own life.

Dr. Tristen Hall is a qualitative researcher, writer, and community builder with a Ph.D. in Student Affairs in Higher Education. Her work explores identity, social media, and storytelling. Outside of her research she enjoys creating meals, hosting gatherings and enjoying the outdoors.