The ‘Next Time’ that never arrives

I’ve always loved sitting down with books and my three coloured pens, filling pages with notes and diving deep into something ordinary until I could make sense of it in my own unique way. That joy of deep but curious learning (and unlearning) was what led me to do a PhD.

The actual PhD was mostly a race. A race to meet milestones, hit deadlines, stretch the stipend with part-time jobs, sort out visas, publish papers and complete the degree before the scholarship and visa end, all while managing what personal life threw my way. And yes, in the end, I ticked off every box - milestones achieved, papers published, competitions won, conference presentations delivered, and even did a panel discussion. But how did it feel each time? I can’t remember. Because I never paused long enough to actually appreciate my efforts or my results.

Somewhere in my adult life, I became a person who measures the worth of everything I do by the outcome. I stress through the process, play down the small wins and rarely pause to celebrate what I’d already achieved. No rewards, no pats on the back, just eyes fixed on the grand finale. After every achievement, I’d tell myself: Next time, I’ll reward myself. Next time, I’ll rest. Next time, I’ll celebrate.

And then, one day, I submitted my final thesis.

The biggest day in any doctoral student’s life. The day we dreamed about countless times in our years-long journey. I think every person who is building something - a business, a book, a video or even a blog post, experiences a version of that day. The day when we decide that we’ve done everything we can to make our work the best it can be, and now it’s ready to face the world. And the only thing we can do is to trust that the world will be fair to it, and that it will make sense to whoever it meets.

I thought that would be the day when I’d finally feel fulfilled and successful. The day I’d celebrate all my hard work and achievements together. But, in reality, it was a day far from that. I was exhausted, alone and found myself with no plans.

Desperate to celebrate, I spent days dreaming up all kinds of amazing ways to mark the occasion - a trip to Europe (the thinking possibilities of a researcher are truly endless ;-p), visiting family in India, a week in Tasmania, a train journey through the state of Queensland, a rainforest retreat and a weekend getaway to Gold Coast. But when the financial reality of an international student kicked in, what actually happened was a walk through South Bank in Brisbane, which is a very beautiful place to walk (not quite Europe though!).

Reflecting on it all, being very sure that I’ve learned the lesson that the journey is more important than the destination, or at the very least, just as important, I made the decision that moving forward, I will make sure to fully embrace the experience of whatever I am doing. I will pause once in a while to breathe, to celebrate, to actually see and be present wherever I am. I promised myself that I’ll do it better next time. So yes, once again, I decided to wait for the next time (this time because of my financial reality ;-p)

And then, the next time arrived. The day I received the news that I am officially a doctor.

It was a day that was nothing short of extraordinary. Brisbane and all of South East Queensland were on high alert due to Tropical Cyclone Alfred. The first-ever cyclone of its kind to go out of its usual zone and reach non-tropical Brisbane in 51 years. Shops closed, schools and universities shut down, AFL games postponed, Green Day concert cancelled, and flights were delayed and grounded as radar signals disappeared. Mariners were put on Red Alert, and even the Australian Defence Force was activated. I couldn’t have asked for a more extraordinary turn of events to mark the occasion of my doctorate.

Life has a way of teaching us the same lesson over and over, each time a little harder, until we finally learn it.  Due to the whole dramatic arrival of Mister Alfred, I ended up staying at a friend’s place for the week for safety reasons and more survival options if we hit the worst. We were joined by a friend of hers as well. When the email arrived around 2 pm on March 7, 2025, that I had officially been awarded my doctorate, I wanted to celebrate. I shared the news with my friend. She smiled, said “Congratulations” and went back to her work. I wanted to jump up and down and scream I did it!  But I couldn’t because the other person in the house was sleeping.

I shared the news with my family, and then got annoyed at them for sharing it in the extended family group chat. My supervisors were thrilled, friends were happy, in fact, everyone ‘online’ was excited (or at least appeared to be). They sent me wishes and asked, “How are you going to celebrate?” That question felt as confusing as my overarching research question for my whole PhD. As life was too stubborn to teach me the lesson it wanted to teach me, I found myself in a place where I couldn’t talk loudly and with someone who didn’t care enough to ask how I felt, how the journey had been or what that moment meant to me or have ten minutes to spare with me.

I went to my bed and lay down, wondering why this was my ‘next time’. I thought about all the sleepless nights, the endless writing, the days filled with doubt and fear and the countless ‘no’ to my friends. I thought about the times I’d gone out of my way - emotionally and physically - for my friend, and I couldn’t help but think: if I’d saved that time and energy, I could’ve written another paper for my PhD. Damn. Maybe it’s the karma for making my parents, the people who were truly proud of me, sad for sharing my achievement. So often in life, we expect good things from the wrong places, and in doing so, we overlook the blessings already being given to us.

That’s when I realised. We don’t always get ‘next times’.  And the journey isn’t just about the grand finale. It’s in the journey itself that the true magic lies, and the journey is happening right now. Therefore, success is in the pauses along the way. The pauses we must take to notice, to appreciate and to be proud of what we’ve already achieved. 

Savouring the journey and celebrating each small win matter more than we often think. It makes life more memorable, and it fuels our inspiration. It reminds us how far we’ve come and keeps us sane enough to keep going. Most importantly, it frees us from the constant rat race and lets us feel we’re truly living. And when we finally reach the grand finale, it will be a hundred times more beautiful, because we’ll carry with us the joy of every twist, turn, and cyclone along the way.

So let’s stop waiting for the perfect outcome. Let’s celebrate that presentation, that meeting, that chapter, that interview, that productive week. We won’t be late for the ‘next time’, nor will celebrating ‘this time’ make the ‘next time’ any less special. The ‘next time’ will arrive in its own unique way, ready to be celebrated too.

As Nietzsche said: “The end of a melody is not its goal: but nonetheless, had the melody not reached its end it would not have reached its goal either. A parable.”