Monday, November 21, 2011

Are you happy?

The title of this post is a question that I have been asked TWICE this week now.  So it seems as if the heavens above are compelling me to 1) ask myself this question and REALLY think hard about it; and 2) write about it so that I can share my thoughts/feelings with others who may benefit from this post.

A masters student asked me today, as I was advising her about the journey of becoming an academic (she is interested in doing a doctorate), whether I am happy that I have chosen the academic job route.  It's a tough question, though, because on the one hand, I do absolutely love my work.  So much so that it's a little bit of an addiction.  In fact, my late advisor said it well: "Jason, being an academic means that you'll always have a mistress.  You have your wife ... but she'll always be jealous of your work and all the time that you'll spend with it instead of with her."  Being an academic is, in many ways, a completely selfish act.  I seek knowledge because I want to know more (I'm just so darn curious!).  I spend countless hours toiling over things that other people would consider minutiae (but it's NOT minutiae ... I'm building knowledge here, for goodness sakes ... pushing the frontiers of what we know!).  And I do all of this, at least for me as an emerging scholar, because I find it intensely interesting and, quite frankly, because I want to be employable at a top-notch institution.  So I do spend lots of time trying to get published ... trying to think of really awesome ideas that can get funded by people with deep pockets ... the sort of stuff that takes absurd amounts of time ... time that could have been spent with my family, had I not been so addicted to my work (see post entitled "Debt").

So yes, I'm happy that I chose this route because it fulfills my career aspirations, and because the job just really suits my dispositions well.  But ...

It also means that spending those countless hours working my tail off really puts a strain on the other parts of my life.  I'll be frank here.  The academic life is not family-friendly.  I am constantly being pulled back to my laptop because I'm always thinking, "I need to get _____ paper out for publication ..." or "I have to meet with _______ and discuss how to write our NSF grant," or more commonly (at least in my immediate future), "I have to GRADE PAPERS!!!"  I do see a small number of people who have families and seem to be able to handle it quite well.  But, they ARE the minority for sure.  In other words, I have yet to find a way to balance my work life with my family life so that the one (work) does not consume the other.  At this point in my life, Amy and the kids are most definitely getting consumed by my work.  As a postdoc, finances are TIGHT, especially with 2 kids.  So we are a family of 2 working professionals who are scraping by (financially) to make ends meet.  That's a big cause of unhappiness.  Also, at the end of the day, Amy and I are so strung out from work that we barely have time or energy to even spend quality time together.  That's also a cause of unhappiness.  Yet, it's what I've chosen.  So I own it ... all the happiness AND the unhappiness that comes with the choice.  

As an academic, it really helps if you have a spouse who borders saintliness.  Amy is my personal hero.  And ultimately, whatever I "achieve" in my academic career won't mean a thing unless that work can contribute to and support other people in the same way that Amy has contributed to and supported my own happiness.  And for that, I defer to St. Bernard of Clairvau:


There are those who seek knowledge for the sake of knowing; that is curiosity.
There are those who seek knowledge to be known by others; that is vanity.
There are those who seek knowledge in order to serve; that is love.


I doubt that I can say in earnest that I am really happy that I've chosen this route unless I can say that I have sought knowledge in order to serve.  Unfortunately, my perception of how things are in my field is that, as a junior researcher, you simply do not have any room to do such things ... yet. 

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Emptiness

There's a Chinese saying that goes like this: "The usefulness of a cup is in its emptiness."  As young scholars we spend a lot of our time and efforts in trying to consume information--filling our minds with articles and book chapters written by the greats, listening to what our advisors say, and going to sessions like graduate student seminars or early career seminars.  We follow this pattern for as long as we feel like we have reached a point when we are "experts."

But unless we pour that cup out, we cease to be useful.  I can relate to this.  After losing my mentor, I hungered for mentorship; I felt completely helpless and approached the rest of my doctoral career from a deficiency perspective.  I think that mindset also carried over to my postdoctoral career.  But I am beginning to move on from that mindset.  The paradox of mentorship is that mentorship is most effective when YOU contribute at least as much mentoring as you receive.  When you receive more than you give, you cease to be useful.  Regardless of our situations, we have accomplished what we have because we have learned something along the way.  Those things we learn are lessons that can be taught to others.  Our hunger for mentorship should be matched or even exceeded by our hunger to mentor others.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Rejection

Last I posted, I was only getting started in my postdoc!  It's been overwhelming.  But 1 year later, and I'm sitting here reflecting on how far I've come.

As academics, we are faced with ridiculous numbers that most people are happy that they don't have to face.  For example: "At ____ academic journal, only about 5% of the papers submitted get published." Or applying for jobs (like what I'm doing now): "At ______ university, we received over 500 applications to fill our ONE Assistant Professor position."  Or when applying for funding (like at the NSF or The Gates Foundation): "Typically, it takes people over 8 failed attempts at writing a grant before they experience success."  If you don't know...writing a grant to get funding is a colossal task!  So when your livelihood depends on publishing ("publish or perish"), and on getting funding, and finding a job is so ridiculously difficult, why do we do what we do???!!!  Perhaps we are gluttons for punishment.

I submitted an article for publication about a year ago.  It was rejected.  I changed it up a little, took some of the suggestions that the reviewers made, and submitted it to another journal.  It was rejected again.  I then reconceptualized the study completely, and asked different questions and even had some colleagues look it over.  It was rejected again.  My coauthor and I are flummoxed.  So we did a radical reconceptualization, added more data, and have submitted it to another journal.  It's in review, but I'm feeling good about it.  I think it's got a really good chance.  Why do I think this after all the rejections?  I don't know.  I just do.  As researchers, we all know the numbers ... we know our chances of success are not favorable (at least for us junior researchers).  But we keep going because we love what we do.  Because the questions that we ask drive us so powerfully forward ... because we are so convinced that what we are researching is so incredibly important ... that we drive forward despite the unfavorable odds.  Back 10 years ago, my late advisor asked me, "Jason, why do you want to pursue a Ph.D.?  You're going to be dirt poor and have a miserable life."  When I told him that I just have to read and know more about this stuff, I got his attention.  And as we talked more, I think it became apparent that I really was out of my mind crazy.  So this is why I do what I do--because I can't imagine doing anything else and loving it so much. 

And you know what's REALLY crazy?  I'm kind of glad that my paper didn't get published those first few times I attempted it!  Why?  Well, because this time around ... it's a REALLY good paper.  To be an academic and to succeed as one, you have to view rejection as positive feedback that makes you better, because that's exactly what it is.