On Friday night, I was at restaurant with a group of friends, and as it turned out, three of us (me and two other female Ph.D.s) were all in non-traditional academic jobs — and we all love our jobs. All three of us are in center-related positions with administrative and research responsibilities, and we are pretty happy. One expressed a wish that she had more time for independent research, but that is not an uncommon sentiment even in traditional academic jobs.
I thought of the our conversation when I read this piece in Inside Higher Ed:
When we were interviewing contributors for the first edition of Job Search in Academe, an editor at a respected academic journal told us apologetically that she “liked her job, she really did!” Many of the pleasures of teaching, she told us, were central to her job on the “outside”: working with writers, playing with words and layouts, engaging in meaningful conversations, working a varied schedule. The tragedy is that she felt she had to convince us of that.
Why do those of us in non-traditional academic jobs feel the need to convince others that we like our jobs, we really do? I’ll tell you why – because of the pitying looks we get from other academics when they hear what we are doing. I think these pitying looks come from two groups of people in particular.
The first group is tenure-track/tenured professors who believe that any other path is inferior, and that those of us not on that path must not have what it takes to succeed. These people are snotty elitists and there’s not much we can do about them. I don’t waste my time worrying about these people.
The group that has bothered me more in the past are the deluded grad students and post-docs who believe that 1) any other path is inferior (see above), 2) any one who takes a job off the tenure-track is “giving up,” and 3) of course they’ll succeed, their experience will be different. These are the same people who give you pitying looks if you take a tenure-track position at any institution that is not an R1 or a prestigious private SLAC.
I’ve decided not to let this group bother me any more either. They’ll learn about the real world soon enough.
And at a conference a couple of weeks ago, I felt like a shift was occurring in the academic zeitgeist. When I met new people and told them about my job, they genuinely seemed to think it sounded like a great job. Some even seemed envious. Of course, by being there and presenting results from this summer’s fieldwork, I was able to demonstrate that one could be an active researcher in a position like this, which might have helped a bit.
I don’t know if I am noticing them more or what, but it seems to me that non-traditional academic positions are becoming more common. Another friend of mine just got a position running the educational/outreach programs at a research station, which I think is a great job for her. But when she got the job offer, a whole bunch of people did the equivalent of coughing and looking away. I was one of the few to encourage her to take the job and to enjoy it. And so far she’s glad she did – especially since her other option was adjuncting in a big city and keeping her fingers crossed that one day, one of those universities in that city just might offer her a permanent position.
I don’t think of my job as “second-best,” and neither should the rest of us in so-called “alternate” careers. I get to do everything I love about academia – and I avoid many of the things I hate about it. I’d say that’s a pretty good deal.
New Year’s is my favorite holiday – no religious connotations, no presents to buy, no decorations to put up. Just a big party, cocktails, friends, and a fresh start. I like making resolutions, too. I don’t usually make boring resolutions that are hard to enforce like “lose weight” or “spend less money,” but broader goals or themes, like “don’t let the bastards grind me down” (in grad school, 2003) or “Things can only get better” (2010, after a spectacularly horrible 2009). This year, my theme is one that will last for the next three years. This year, I will turn 37, which means 40 is approaching rather quickly – and, as for many people, it also means that I am starting to run out of time. No, I am not talking about having children. I am talking about Being Awesome.
You see, I have always envisioned my 40s as a truly awesome decade. In my 40s, I will be who it is I have been trying to become. I will have my shit together. I will be confident and competent and accomplished and will take shit from no one. Some, like my husband, might say that I am that way already. Perhaps that image is the one I project, but it is not the way I feel inside. In order to Be Awesome, I believe one has to feel awesome inside as well.
I don’t want to suffer from impostor syndrome when I am 40. I don’t want to be insecure and constantly seek approval. I don’t want to feel like a little kid playing at being a grownup when I am 40. I don’t want to be afraid of failure, or take criticism badly.
For the next three years, then, I will start Becoming the 40-Year-Old Woman I Want to Be. I am not sure exactly what this change will entail – probably a shift in perspective, a modification to my usual negative thoughts, better posture, maybe a few lifestyle changes, definitely some new shoes. When faced with a problem, I will say to myself, “How would the 40-year-old me handle this?” and I will do that. If all goes well, then when my 40th birthday does roll around, I won’t have the same thought I had when I turned 30: “I thought I’d be better than this by now.”
Upon spending close to an hour today preparing and setting out food for a gathering at work, I had two thoughts:
Thought 1: “This is bullshit. I have a PhD. If they had hired a man for this position they would not expect him to do this.”
Thought 2: “Hey, I’m getting paid $36/hr to put cookies on a plate. That’s awesome.”
I see a lot of bloggers complaining that their students do not call them “Dr. So-and-so” and how that is disrespectful – and how it happens far more often to female faculty than it does to male faculty. Having done quite a bit of teaching myself, I understand the problem very well and sympathize.
But I would argue that it is worse when you are in an administrative position and the faculty members that you are managing assume you are staff, and address you as “Ms.” in their emails. Even when your email signature clearly points out that you have a Ph.D. When I was hired for this position, they were looking for someone who had a Ph.D. and who would continue to do active research, because they felt that it would be valuable for many of the responsibilities of this job. They are even giving me a faculty appointment in one of the departments to assist with things like getting funding. However, several of the faculty members involved in this center apparently did not get that memo, because they clearly regard me as a secretary of sorts. Which explains why they never fucking answer my emails.
I am disgruntled.