Close only counts...

Looking up an old email, I came across the following note from my advisor after my one campus interview last year. As they say, close only counts in horeshoes and hand-grenades. But at least it's good to remember I was close.

-----Original Message-----
From: Dr. TassePlein
Sent: Wednesday, December 08, 2004 10:47 AM
Subject: Re: FW: interview at [South-North University]

Dear _________:

I've just had a LONG conversation with [SearchCommittee Chair]. Obviously they liked you very much, and you are very much in the running for the position. Just a heads up: [SCC] mentioned to me that he thought that your answers tended to go on "about 50% longer than necessary." I told them that this was a sign of your enthusiasm, and perhaps the excitement of the interview, natural under the circumstances. The ONLY reason I'm telling you this should be clear: if they call back again because they can't decide, or because they want one last go round, you might keep it in mind. Since I, ahem, referred to you as a "visionary," he wanted to make sure that this didn't mean that you were a loose cannon. I assured him that you were the essence of a team player, and that what you liked best was working with interesting and imaginative groups of people. He also seemed puzzled by why you would ask about accelerating tenure. So I'd watch that kind of stuff too if you speak to them again.

Let me close this note by congratulating you on what sounds like a *splendid* interview. They really like you enormously, found you infectiously exciting, etc. and could very well end up making you an offer (apparently they have one more interviewee). But please, if it somehow doesn't work out, don't take it hard. It's a *marvelous* first dip into the market, and you've done a brilliant job.

Yrs,
____________

Some words for a job candidate

These words come from Goldsmith, Komlos, and Gold, The Chicago Guide to Your Academic Career, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001.

How long should I keep my hopes up?

John Komlos: I would consider two cycles to be appropriate, provided you really put your best foot forward. I mean by that that your dissertation was in hand and you applied to a wide array of institutions and did not limit yourself geographically or any other way. ...

Penny Gold: It's difficult to tell someone else, I think, how long to persist in looking. I don't know that I would have had the stamina to last through more than three hiring seasons myself. But one of my colleagues ... had been on the job market seven years ... before the tenure-track job... From my perspective, it is difficult to imagine how she could not have been hired earlier, as her credentials were stellar and she's a nice person to boot. But she's in a very competitive field, and an oversupplied subfield within that field.

Just to clarify

Just to clarify matters a bit. I can't imagine my father reading his words, without laughing at his own melodramatic turn. In fact, I can't imagine him having made it through writing them down without gasping at his own imagery. As he well modelled in his own behavior, if we can't laugh at ourselves, there's little point.

Found an old notebook of my father's

Cleaning up a bit this morning, looking for some document to finally complete the paperwork and filings for my father's remaining few leavings, I came across an old notebook of his, hand written, April-May 1970. He was just shy of thirty-five. Today I am thirty-eight. My life is different, I am sure. But I am not quite sure how.

One of these days (perhaps I shouldn't say it that way, it sounds like I'll never do it)... I should find the time and energy to compile his writings, edit them, and write a reminiscence. He was a good man.

Late in life he taught me that our primary choice is whether or not we will be good; history alone decides if we are great. Why would he give me this advice? Because he suffered a contagious malady that lends its patients a drive to accomplish great things.

I will edit his work and write the reminiscence, some day, because he deserves it. Here are the first words that appear in the notebook:

We see each other now
through a patina of days piled one upon another,
less bright, more rich,
like layers of wax that yellow on the floor.

patina of days
like wax that yellows on the floor.

The night is not as young as it used to be.

My father once wrote a poem about looking in the mirror and seeing his father there. I do not see my father's face in the mirror. But I often see myself in his words.

4/15/70

Sometimes I'm Convinced of My Own Greatness

Sometimes I'm convinced of my own greatness,
Convinced there's a real hard core of greatness in me
and that I'll someday discover the way
to let it burst loose and sprinkle down all over the world

Like silver tinsel on a christmas tree,
Haphazardly tossed,
Accidentally lying there among the green needles,
Brightening things up in incandescent reflection.

and
sometimes i feel inadequate even to piss straight
into the toilet bowl
without dripping a few drops onto the octagonal
black and white tiled floor
even if the bowl filled the whole room
sometimes i feel so inadequate i'm sure i'd find
a way to drip piss someplace it's not supposed to be
no matter what
or get flushed down the enormous bowl
lodge in the pipes
and make the pissy water flood the whole fucking floor
every fucking floor in the whole fucking house.

Empire State Building.

Random bullets

Got some mildly good news today. I guess those three trailing letters are worth something:

• At the urging of a friend, I decided to simply write to the textbook company and request an examination copy of the latest edition. I wrote that I am currently a visiting scholar in a different department from my PhD, but that I anticipate teaching a course in the fall at another school (a bit of wishful thinking, but true), that I need to prepare and submit the syllabus by May 15. The request was cheerfully, and rapidly approved, so I'll be getting a copy of the newest edition in campus mail next week, in order to prepare my syllabus for my application to Tough Commute U. That made me feel a bit better about all this.
• Got word from my current host department, that they have approved my request for an extension to my visiting scholar status for another year (which is my hedge in case nothing comes through for the fall). At least I will retain access to the library and article databases and such. And most importantly, I will retain that shred of university affiliation.

In other news:

• I sent out inquiries to a couple local schools, along with a cover letter, CV, and selected student evaluations, to see about adjunct teaching opportunities for the summer or fall. I think it's time I get back in front of a classroom again.
• I've realized that part of my difficulty in freely celebrating PhDMe's wonderful news has to do with my own feeling that her self-affirmation "I am this good. I can do this." leaves unspoken the correlary "if you don't have a job yet, you just ain't this good, sorry". She never said that. Those are my words. They are the nagging voice inside my head.
• It harkens back to those feelings I described in January, those fears of becoming smug, if I ever land that elusive tenure track job. I envy those whose paths have been/are easier. It takes nothing away from the quality of their scholarship and teaching. I wonder though, had my path been more smooth. Had I gotten the offer from my campus visit last year, would I have considered myself more deserving than those who didn't?
• I wonder at the sheer number of my friends out here who received multiple campus visits this season. Is it simply the differences between our fields, and the current supply of PhDs? Is it sheer luck? Or am I really lacking something that they have?
• Is it pigheaded arrogance that keeps me believing "I am that good too"? It's impossible to say. What I can say is that I do believe it. I do believe I have much to offer academia, that my research is innovative, interesting, and worthwhile, that it covers territory otherwise underserved, and that I am a good teacher.
• If ever there is truth in our self-delusions: this is my calling. I am meant to be a scholar.
• And so, I persevere. Apologies to PhDMe... I am proud of you, and pleased for you.
  

Might as well have said: desperation doesn't suit you

Ahhh. First thing, The Rocket Scientist is home. After a couple TV shows for the boys, I had calmed down enough to be good father again, so we played for a little while.

Then the wife came home, and I quickly had a couple shots of home-made strawberry vodka. (It's not entirely homemade, since I use Ketel One. I cut up fresh fruit--strawberries and mangoes are my favorites, fill a pint jar about 1/3 full with fruit, then cover with vodka, leave in the fridge for a week or so, shaking every now and then, then freeze. Yum!). Now I'm feeling much ... serener. Now, make no assumptions, I'm no drunk, though I enjoy a few glasses of wine once or twice a week. But I've learned, a shot or two of vodka has quite a calming effect when needed. And, somehow, it seems less drastic than Xanax! :)

So, on to the latest in my saga of unemployment...

Today's rejection letter at least made me laugh. As my wife put it: they do have a point.

Here's the gist of it:

Dear Dr. [YouKnowWho]:
Thank you for your interest and submission of your vita to become a part-time temporary instructor for [Small Midwestern State U.]'s off-campus programs.

At this time, we offer undergaduate programs only in our state, and because of budget constraints it would be unlikely that we would fly an instructor from California. I'm very sorry we will be unable to utilize your expertise.

Should you have any questions regarding this correspondence, please feel free to contact me... Best wishes as you search for teaching opportunities.

:) What they didn't write was What were you thinking? Desperation doesn't suit you!

[SIGH] Ah well. Let's hope something comes through for next year. But, I'm trying to keep my wits and humor about me.

Melt down

You know, I love being a dad... I really do. But... I've come to realize, from experience, that I'm not the best at full-time stay-at-home fathering. About 3:30 or 4:00 I just melt down. Every little nuisance becomes a big deal. Maybe I just haven't worked out the proper routine, the right schedule.

[Ha!... that's a joke. Me? Routine? Schedule? Never heard of 'em.]

I spent about 4 months full-time (about 8:00-6:00) watching both boys last summer. I had been the primary caregiver for The Painter from six weeks until about 11 months (while preparing for my comps!), but they were shorter days, and I got little breaks in the middle most days.

I fully empathize with ABDMom's BH what he's about to go through. Some have patience, energy. Mine... well, mine runs out about 4:00 PM. Ah well.

Today, I copped out, but then it's better than the alternative. I put on Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. Now we're watching Little Einstein's. [SIGH!] Hey, an hour of educational TV won't harm them. Thanks at least to our DVR. Days like this I fully justify the cost of having cable, even if I rarely watch.

Besides, #1 won't take naps... basically stopped when he was about 18 months. So, this is his quiet time... yeah, that's it. And it's fun to watch The Inventor repeatedly face dive onto the couch, while his brother is trying to watch.

So, just in case any of you out there are of the illusion that some of us miraculously know how to balance work and life, being productive academics and having a family... well, if there are any out there, I haven't yet met them. But then, what fun is a balance beam if you never fall off, eh?

Can't beat that (rejection letter)

They won't give up. Back in September I saw one of those "anticipated vacancy" postings that mentions the department and the barest minimum of expectations. I wrote to the best contact I could find, the Dean to ask for a full job description. He replied, saying that he'd forwarded my inquiry to the department chair.

T'make a long story short: I never applied! After reading the full description, I decided it wasn't for me.

Today's mail brought the following:

Dear [FirstName LastName]:
We are pleased to announce that ____ ____ has accepted the position of Assistant Professor in ____ at [YouDidn'tEvenApplyTo U.] ...Thank you for your interest in the position, and we wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.

Note to self: don't include your mailing address in such inquiries in the future. Who knows what mailing lists you may wind up on.

Can't get me down

I'm feeling pretty good today. I decided to audit a graduate course in my host department. As part of my visiting scholar status, I am welcome to sit in on any class in the department, but this is the first time I'm actually doing it. Monday was the first day of Spring quarter here. It's actually a cross-listed course, so I'll be sitting in on the undergrad lecture twice a week, and meeting in a smaller section with four graduate students once per week. Somehow, sitting in on the class makes me feel more a part of the academic community than I have felt otherwise. Partly it's knowing that I have a great deal to contribute to the discussion. I'm viewing it as a bit of apprentice work, in case I wind up with my ultimate dream of a cross-appointment in [Field1] & [Field2].

The prof (who happens to be chair of my host department) asked us to bring along some suggested readings. I brought a small briefcase full of articles, and tossed four her way. Some I've had in readers for classes I've taught; others are simply on my reading list, but relevant to the subject. At the end of section, she said she'd need to talk to me about another aspect of our discussion today, since it's clear I've done more extensive reading on it than her. Also, she had made the comment that she was pleased how the graduate section turned out (I'm the only post-doc sitting in) because we're all [SecondFielders], which brought a smile to my face. I said it was good to be welcomed in the club.

So, nothing is going to get me down right now. Not the fact that power was out on campus for the undergrad lecture and the grad sectional, and for a few hours after. Not that I stopped by the office of one of my dissertation committee members, to follow up on a request for a letter of recommendation, to which he kindly suggested I have his file letter sent to Tough Commute U., in lieu of him writing a new one. Not the fact that my belt just broke (and since attending military academy 25 years ago I've felt naked without a belt). Nope, none of those things are going to get me down.

I've got another hour or so of working, then it's home for a long weekend of playing dad. The au pair is going out of town this weekend, leaving tomorrow early. I'm going to enjoy just being dad for a couple days, not worrying about anything else. And, I've decided that I'm going to try a modified schedule, working longer days M-Th, and taking the boys all day on Fridays. Just in case I do wind up with a commuting gig for next fall, I might as well get used to it now.

The Rains Alive

Many years ago, in a different life lived, I had occasion to drive from Los Angeles to Death Valley, thinking it would take only a few spare hours. I was naive and young... and I hadn't counted on the weather gods' wrath. It rained... and rained... it poured sheets of rain. The sky remained an ominous grey the entire trip, 8 hours, 10, 12? I can't recall, but it was a day.

I was engaged then. I must have been about 19. Thankfully we never married. It would have been a mistake. But the two of us drove, in an old beaten up station wagon. We arrived well after dark, to discover that we could save a bundle by driving across the state border to Nevada, and spending the night there.

Those of you paying attention will note: it never rains in Death Valley! Ah... but it does, it does. Only... it rains but once or twice a year in Death Valley. And we got it all in that one day and night. As we all know from recent events, rain can be devastatingly destructive. But it is a purgative and nourishment like nothing else.

Where I live, it has rained nearly every day seemingly for the past two weeks. But, somehow, it is refreshing, rather than depressing. The skies are embracing the earth, kissing the plants and soil beneath, showering all us bipedal mortals.

There is a story about Alexander Hamilton, growing up in the West Indies (was it?). The story relates to why and how he came to America. He was sponsored by wealthy merchants (or bankers?), as I recall, at the behest of his minister. And why? Because of a letter he wrote, containing an essay on the force of nature which he observed in the strength of a storm. Rain can humble us all.

Here is a poem I wrote many years ago, recalling Death Valley from those years before:

The Rains Alive (8/6/91)

I love to walk in torrent rain
and watch the people run.
I love to talk in torrent rain
to myself or anyone.

I love the colors streetlights shine
against the grayish sky,
Where sovereign clouds direct our eyne
to view the heavens fly.

I love to taste the rainy air
and puff a misty sigh.
I love receiving zany stares
from sober passersby.

To me is rain a mirac sight,
mysterious and proud,
The drops that bend unbending light,
the clouds the sun enshroud.

A miracle, presented once,
allowed my thoughts to thrive:
I saw Death Valley rainy once;
I've seen the rains alive!

Not much to say today

(Okay, I just know Prof. Me is going to expect this to drag on for six paragraphs... but we'll see.)

Actually, I don't feel like I have much to say here today. I've been working. It's going to be a short week for me, since the au pair is going with friends out of town early Thursday, which means I'm Dr. Dad at home all day on Thursday and Friday, rather than Dr. Me, Visiting Scholar.

I haven't yet submitted my application for Tough Commute U. but I expect to. Full consideration by date is May 15, so there's no rush. The hold up is simply my writing a new syllabus (rather than submitting old ones I've used in the past). One issue I'm dealing with is the edition of the text. I had chosen a particular text (six years ago, when I taught at the community college) and apparently that's the same text they currently use there. However, they're onto the next edition. Does it look bad for me to write up a syllabus with an "out-of-date" edition? I don't really feel like purchasing a copy of the new edition at the moment, since by rights I should get a free teacher's copy, but... Any thoughts would be appreciated.

Otherwise, I've just been working away. My current project is moving along. I want to get through the initial data analysis first, before working on the detailed analyses and comparisons. I'm halfway through the fifth data set right now. I've gotten a pretty good pace on this right now, which feels good. I think there's onlyl one more data set to analyze after this. Then I'll need some input from others regarding the data, to back up my own intuitions; then I can get to the comparative work. Finally, I've got a bit of reading to do in [Field 2], so I can have something intelligent to say about the linkages this data reveals between [Field 1] & [Field 2].

I'm going to work this into conference presentations and an article. If things look really good, I'll work up a grant proposal for a larger project along these lines. I'll also use this work in my host department colloquium talk in about 6 weeks.

So, here's what I have to do:

• Finish analysis for this project
• Write up new syllabus, and submit application to Tough Commute U.
• Work up conference talk from this work
• Work up article from this work
• Work on colloquium talk
• Decide on some project for grant apps, and get moving. NEH deadline: May 1
• NIH grant proposal, NSF grant proposal? What are the deadlines? (I told you I was interdisciplinary!)
  

We are multiple

'Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number--
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you--
Ye are many--they are few.'
---Percy Shelley, The Mask of Anarchy, final verse

I do indeed feel multiple at times. And I recognize the chains. But mostly, I think they're my own.

I'm thrilled for PhDme her latest news. But I can't say I'm not jealous. Indeed I am. I'm jealous of her success, and ProfessorMe's and ABDmom's, and.... but then, I'm not jealous in that I want their lives. Nor am I jealous in the sense that I wish any less upon them. We have all struggled in our way. The PhD is quite an accomplishment (even if it seems some are less than deserving of it).

And, these are my friends, though I've known them only a few months, though I know them mostly only through their blog personae. We have and do share quite a bit, and I celebrate their successes. But, I am jealous in the sense that I wish a bit more professional success for me. Rather, I wish the one success that has been for me most elusive, an offer of a faculty post. I have had other successes, but unfortunately have discounted them. When it comes down to it, (as WhatNow? recently observed while recovering from a bout of jealousy herself) my life is pretty darn good.

Attitude is many things. If I am bitter, nothing will quite satisfy me, even a faculty offer. And, I've come to recall that my wife has never told me that bitterness is one of the reasons she loves me.

No, that's never been among the qualities she lists. That I make her laugh has often topped the tally. She enjoys that I am a fine cook. She is inspired by my ideas, that I get so excited by them. She relishes the moments when my pitch heightens, as I explain some project I want to work on. She enjoys my magic hands that seem to know just when and where she needs a caress or massage.

We are partners. We listen to each other. We are mirrors, reflecting each other's strengths, and fears. So what if I mooch a bit off of her employer's generosity, off of her talents and skills, that just at this moment happen to be far more usable and lucrative than my own?

Come to think of it, I've never heard her say she loves me for being rich, or for the ease with which she always knew I'd land that faculty post. No, she's as much to blame for encouraging me on this path. She's the one who's ever noted that twinkle in my eye as I attempt cross-disciplinary connections that perhaps were never meant to be (but which I will, to my dying day, insist must be made).

For those things, she loves me. And for all her talents, and her smile, and her laugh (that I am adept at raising)... for her magic hands (and the way she and I can crack up together over the most inane disturbance to a romantic moment that ever was), because she is caring, and giving, and loving, and supportive, I love her... for these reasons, we are together (even if she tried to run me over on my bicycle those 12 years ago).

Thanks to all of you who have recently written paeans to your loves and children. I'm with you there. It's good to remember the important things in life. I'm remembering, too.

Must it be a question of hierarchy?

I mentioned a little while ago that last job season I conducted three telephone interviews, each with a very different sort of school and program. Recently, in discussing this opportunity at Tough Commute University with a friend, she asked where that program lies in the rankings. To be honest, there's no way for me to answer that, since my niche is basically unacknowledged so far, because it is inherently interdisciplinary. The best programs have strong departments in each of the areas. Academia is filled with the hierarchies and divisions between types of schools, types of programs.

For the record, as I have written in several recent cover letters: Unabashedly excited by research, I am equally at home teaching survey courses, or lecturing to the general public. Where does that place me in the spectrum? I think for one thing, it means I might not be fully happy at a two-year school. Does that mean I look down on Community Colleges? In a sense that would be like saying a high school teacher has disdain for elementary teachers, or that those in geriatrics think pediatricians are unworthy!

Surely not. They are different. In some ways, the students are different, not always on a slide from worse to better, simply different. I want it understood that I speak not purely out of supposition. I taught as part-time adjunct at a smallish community college for two years, six semesters, summers included, after completing my Master's and before beginning the PhD. My lecture sections were mostly about 30-35 students. Some of the students were there to blow off life, some to seek further opportunities. Some of them I disliked, at least as many I was quite fond of. Some were rich, some poor, some international students, many locals.

It is not them however that leads me to the thought that I'd be unhappy there. I have thought long about where I might like to work. I have gone back and forth, never quite being sure. Do I want graduate students? PhD committee work? How much teaching? What about research opportunities? A four-year school, or a comprehensive, or a "Tier 1 Research" school? If I think back to my applications to doctoral institutions, I applied to four top-tier schools. Each of them well-known enough. One was private, the remaining schools were public. Three in the States, one in Canada.

For me, to a large extent it comes down to the balance between teaching and research. Perhaps I don't need graduate students of my own (within my own subdiscipline). I can always serve on PhD committees as outside reader. The better known I become in my niche, the more likely this will become. With the present experience I am having, I have come to believe there are far too many PhDs in my subdiscipline (even if I, as Mr. Interdisciplinary, only partly self-identify with it). I don't wish to contribute to that overabundance.

I think I could be happy at a comprehensive school, a 4-year liberal arts school, as much as at a doctoral-granting research school, assuming (and here's the key) that I could continue with my research. The gig at Tough Commute U calls for teaching 6 half-year courses. I think that's the limit for me. At my doctoral institution, tenure-track faculty taught mostly 4 courses per year. In my ideal world, a 2+2 or 3+2 teaching load would be just fine.

Why are research and teaching so often discussed as opposing forces, rather than as complementary enterprises. Teaching means I have to understand my work well enough to make it accessible, which strengthens my research, and enriches it by keeping it grounded. My teaching benefits from an active research program, because I continue to be passionately involved in aspects of what I'm teaching, keeping the arguments and materials fresh.

Up

Up since 4:54... well, actually since 4:23 when The Painter came in "to snuggle". That's his euphemism for:

I woke up because I have to pee, but I don't want to admit it, so I'll just crawl in bed with you and wiggle a lot until you get fed up and suggest I simply use the toilet, then put me back in my bed.

But after the near-nightly ritual... I couldn't fall back asleep. I was thinking about research.

I got an email back yesterday from the director of the the Institute for [Field 1] and [Interdisciplinary Field] at the tough commute school. As I explained, she's in a different field. I've met her at conferences of the Society for Innovative Interdisciplinarity. I wasn't sure she'd remember me, but I wrote her nonetheless, to apprise her of my new research website, and to inquire as to the status of the [Field 1] department on her campus, where the job posting is.

Her response was encouraging. Here are some excerpts:

The web site looks interesting! What funding do you have for the various projects?

The [Field 1] department at [ToughCommute University] is in a state of flux right now, but is moving in the direction of [interdisciplinary approach to subject]. ...You might find it to be an interesting place to spend a year.

Sounds good, as I suspected. Her first question lingers though. What funding do you have? Uh... me? Um... yeah, I'm working on that.

It's more of that coasting I guess (though I'll take B*'s comment to heart: I have been through a lot of living lately). Nonetheless, I guess it's time for me to put my grant applications where my mouth is. These are good projects, and deserve at least my effort to draft up the grant applications, if not the funding and resources and recognition that ideally comes with them.

That's what got me up early. Dawn is beginning to appear outside. I see a mild blue-gray with hints of pink, in the sparse altocumulus clouds above the ocean, as I look southwest from my living room. I can't see the ocean from here, but it's not too far. Perhaps I'll curl up in bed with my wife for another few minutes of rest before the day begins in earnest.

Another quality rejection letter

It's nice to know that at least some of my rejections come from people of substance. Today's mail brought the following letter:

Dear Dr. ______________:

Thank you for your application for the advertised position in _________ at the University of _______________. The committee has completed its review of applications. The pool of applicants in general reflected a very high standard. The committee took considerable time and effort in rendering its short list. It is with regret that I inform you, we were not able to include you in our short list of applicants to be invited for campus interviews for this position. I wish to take this opportunity to wish you all the best in your continuing career path in the field.

Sincerely,

[Department Chair]

Now that's a well written letter. Courteous, respectful, straight-forward and honest, without condescension. When I receive a letter like that I feel encouraged and welcome in the field, even in the face of rejection, rather than discouraged or put-off as too often occurs.

Small milestones

I'll take 'em. I finished the initial analysis of the first set of data for my current small project. This is the analysis I was doing yesterday when the program crashed. I've taken to obsessively hitting Ctrl-S, since there's no automation of this function (It's a shareware program, but perhaps the best for what I'm doing). It's a good habit for me to get into (especially since this program doesn't prompt at close to save).

It's a cold and grey day here. It's "Cesar Chavez" day, so the entire campus is closed as well. Since I have a building and lab key, it was no problem for me to get in and work. But... I couldn't get lunch anywhere, and didn't think to pack a lunch today. Sorry to say, I didn't know it was CC day! So, I've been subsisting off of dried apricots and a bag of Chex Mix. (Now, why do I feel like a grad student today?)

It feels good to have reached a small milestone. I had a nice chat with the newest member of the faculty here in my host department. He's a couple years younger than me, but quite accomplished. And we share an interest in [InterdisciplinaryField]. As he put it, he's been lucky. And he has. But he's much more published than I. He gave me some ideas that I think I'll take away with me. Mainly he simply reiterated what I wrote a few days ago about publishing. I've got to simply take the attitude that what I have to say (even if it doesn't seem perfect) is worth sending out. I have to trust that it's at least good enough for feedback. And, who knows, maybe some of those articles will be stamped "pending revision."

Most importantly, I simply have to keep on keeping on.

WhatNow? has been writing about some issues that speak to my present experience. The situations are different, but I think the underlying emotions are recognizable. The main thing I take away from it is the need to remember it's my life I'm living, it's my choices that have gotten me here, I'm in the steerage... and what's more, I kind of like it. I'm the one who's had most to do with forging this life, and I'm the principal player in all that happens next.

Granted, Dryden may be right, when he says misery is more entertaining than most other alternatives. But, frankly, I'm tired of my own whining. Timna may be right as well that others like to catch us at our whiniest. So maybe I won't be getting links for a while. I can suffer it.

No promises, though. But I'm going to make some effort to just enjoy my life. Misery makes us martyrs, leads us to disregard our own best interests in pretending our suffering serves some greater goal. Just think of Zacarias Moussaoui.

A new day

Sorry for my self-pity last night. Sometimes I good cry or whine is needed to purge.

As I promised, today is a new day.

This morning, I drafted up and sent off an abstract for the chapter meeting of SOD, which is coming up in the beginning of May. The abstract was on one of my current smaller projects. And it gives me impetus to draw some conclusions. I've also decided this will play a major role in my host department's colloquium presentation in the middle of May.

Then, I've caught up on all my blog feeds. So, I won't have to write comments on five day old posts for a while.

I intend to have a good and productive day, and a wonderful weekend with my family, keeping priorities where they lie.

What's keeping me in this fight?

At times I think it's sheer momentum. There are times when I think half the reason I am still here is what I've always considered a sorry excuse: because I already have so much invested. It's like the current U.S. administration's excuse for continuing headstrong on one failed policy after another.

Am I as guilty as they?

Maybe it's pure selfishness. I'm shocked by the headlines in my news feeds. More bombings every day. Now dozens die in Iran from earthquakes. Tsunamis and Hurricanes.

In the face of that, what's it matter if little ole me is a professor or not? Who cares? Does my plight have any impact on the suffering in the world?

But at the moment, I'm too invested, or too afraid of considering any real alternative. I can't exactly pack up, abandon my family and head to Indonesia for the Peace Corps. To be fair, there are times (often enough) when I believe I have much to contribute in academia, when I know in my heart that I am a good teacher (my student evals, albethey yellowing from age at this point, attest to that), when I'm excited by research, and convinced that my efforts will ease us closer to some hidden domain of knowledge. There are times when I believe, as my Jewish heritage teaches me, that this too, a life dedicated to knowledge, perhaps even above all else, is worthy.

I miss the stage: the applause, yes; but the faces too. I miss looking into the faces in the audience, speaking directly to them, seeing their tears or fears. That's meaningful! That's doing something I can be proud of.

That's the point. We can (I have, I know) justify our lives in myriad ways. It is possible to find value and worth in waiting tables, or gardening, even in changing a diaper. It's just... I'm not sure I can, anymore. I want to be a professor. Damn it, I want that!

Just now I feel embarassed and ashamed. I'm a mere statistic: an unemployed PhD.

Ah. Tomorrow's another day.

Life's a rollercoaster, and all I want...

All I really want... is to get off and taste the fried dough!
[SIGH]

A bunch of random thoughts. I guess Prof. me is contagious.

I didn't get too upset this afternoon, when the program I was using crashed, and I lost about an hour's worth of work. That's okay. The analysis always goes quicker the second time around.

I've been getting pretty excited about this prospective one-year gig, 1500 miles away. Why? Why should I be pleased over a long shot (aren't they all?) that would be the worst continuing logistical nightmare of my life? Because I really want to get my career started. That's all I can say.

I wrote to a conference friend of mine, who's a prof. at a school less than an hour down the road from there. In response to my general inquiry (which was in part, I admit, just an excuse to be back in touch with him), he wrote:

Obviously it would fantastic for you to be at [that University] as they have one of the most exciting [field 1] and [interdisciplinary field] groups in Canada.

A-yup, I know. That's why I'm excited. But it's just a posting... I haven't even worked up the new syllabus yet, to include with my application. But I've been working on it. Next, my friend went on to write that he anticipates having a post-doc opportunity at his school, that might be appropriate for me. So, there's another possibility.

Maybe this is a good sign though. Usually when I get excited about something, I forget all about the other irons I have in the fire, until I start smelling some smoke. When the smoke comes, it often means something completely unexpected has turned out. None of the three schools who called me for telephone interviews last year were what I expected. Each was quite different from the other: one medium-sized comprehensive state university (where I had the campus interview); one small liberal arts college; a one-year at a major research university.

What do I make of that? Hell, I don't know who'd be interested in me, or why. I can't say why those particular schools called me last year, nor why I've gotten nothing so far this year. But I've got applications out. If it weren't for the records I keep on my computer, I'd have no idea where I've applied. So, who knows? Maybe one of those schools will yet call me up.

I just want to feel a part of the academic community again. I feel like since I filed that diss, and walked across the stage, in my [borrowed] regalia, it's been like severed ties. I'm just this old floor lamp, sitting in the corner, with a frayed power cord, gathering dust.

My wife tires of my ups and downs (as do I). It's frustrating for her, because she realizes there's really nothing she can do. The one thing really lacking in my life is my professional career, about which she has no control. I'm doing everything I can it seems. So, all I can do is wait.

...

...

Have I said it before? I hate waiting!

Convergences

I'm not a religious person. Not superstitious either. But I've come to appreciate what I call convergences in life. A convergence is when something comes up again and again, from different angles.

When I was younger, my mother bought the oddest little car, an AMC Pacer. Suddenly I noticed them everywhere. Of course, that mostly reflected my own perception of the world. We're always best attuned to hearing our own name spoken over a noisy and distorted loudspeaker at a train station or doctor's office. So a convergence may mostly be one's own awareness of the world in particular ways. For me, being able to pick out connections to the same object (the "all roads lead to Rome" phenomenon) is a good sign that I'm on the right path.

This happened for me as my research focus emerged over the past decade. The more I read about disparate things that interested me, the more they seemed alike, the more connections I could draw. That's where my interdisciplinarity derives from. Sometimes however, these convergences emerge in more mysterious ways.

Yesterday, I mentioned a one-year job I'll probably apply for that would be a tough commute. This morning, while [obsessively] checking my webstats, I noticed one hit on my personal research website from the very city in Canada where that school is! Hmmm. I haven't even applied there yet. So, I looked more closely. The click (to the web-version of my CV by the way) was based on a Google search for one of my references. My PRW was the top page result. Sweet!

They say in advertising and politics, name recognition is king. So...

in your face, folks... this is me, I'm here, oh... and by the way, got any jobs?

More posts keep coming up. Mostly one-year gigs. But that's okay. I just want a jump start now. I can buy a new battery down the road. I just want to hear that engine purr.