On Living Water: Notes on a Thesis Crisis

It’s a different experience, being the first person to enter the pool in the morning, breaking the still water with my presence. Usually when I arrive, the pool is crowded with others of us, who are in ill-health, or disabled, or old, and need the warm water to bear us up as we take our prescribed exercises. The pool was large, flat, and quiet, but once I slipped into the water, I could hear the ripple and rush of the water moving against the sides. It only appeared to be still.

            Soon others joined me, creating little waves as we walked across and across, and I thought about living water, the kind of water Jesus promised the woman at the well, which is naturally still water. Living water is, simply, flowing water, water in motion. And because I was there on a Sunday, unusual for me, I had an encounter I couldn’t have foreseen, that answered a question that had vexed and confused me for some time.

            The first person who slipped into the pool after me was Katherine, a former university administrator who is now visiting the pool every day to address the consequences of her Parkinson’s symptoms. She’s a very positive person, and I found myself discussing my dilemma with her. My MA thesis faced a crisis not long ago, as one of the two external examiners had set conditions I couldn’t possibly meet. My supervisor was alarmed, and my university was unhappy. They had set before me the possibility of a way to complete the thesis nevertheless.

            I felt very isolated in attempting to make this decision. I would still have to make revisions based on the other examiner’s concerns, but the more I looked at him, the more reasonable and indeed necessary was his advice. Yet my health was in question, and I decided to put off any action until I saw my specialist and knew not only the current status of my illness but how much medication I was likely to be dosed with while I attempted to revise the thesis. I lacked motivation. I thought, if only I could have someone to talk to about this, someone who could help me think it through. Someone not involved with the process.

            The meeting with Katherine was astonishing. She wanted to talk about the thesis! She knew all about the subject matter (having gone to a Catholic school) and spoke warmly of one of her teachers, a nun who had recently died but who had left her legacy of inquiring thought with Katherine for the rest of her life. You must imagine this conversation lasting over an hour as we walk through the water, back and forth across the pool. Katherine convinced me that it was important to go on with the thesis.

            How could I know that a visit to the pool would answer my anxieties and restore my motivation? How could I know that I would meet someone entirely unexpected who would know so much about what I was doing? I had felt so alone, low, and uninspired only the day before. I hadn’t prayed: I had only wished for someone to talk to. The living water comes that way: through the unexpected person or event. And everything begins to flow again.