From the category archives:

Reflection

Room 1641 Bed by Aaron GustafsonI was tumbling down the rabbit hole of a Google search the other day, going from one link to the next, when I landed at Tara Hunt’s HorsePigCow blog. You might be familiar with Tara if you’re at all interested in social media, social marketing, social networks and other related social hoo-ha. Basically, Tara’s great. And she had a post the other day (and another great one the day after that) that I think will resonate with Leaving Academia readers, including those of you who are scratching your heads, thinking, “Social WHAT?”

Tara’s post included a link to a TED talk given by Alain de Botton, whom the philosophers among you will be familiar with. de Botton is speaking here about success, what is is and how to measure it. I felt genuine surprise to think that someone as successful as Alain de Botton–successful by my standard, or what I think I mean by success–cries into his proverbial pillow about how successful (or not) he is. His talk, I think, will resonate with those of you who are worried about the whole failure thing (which we’ve discussed before, but it’s worth discussing again).

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • email
  • LinkedIn
  • MySpace
  • Reddit
  • Slashdot
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati
  • Tumblr
  • TwitThis
  • Yahoo! Buzz

{ 3 comments }

Simple Lives in More Light by PepperstoryThis is an email I received from an academic leaver I know, someone who left ABD and now works in a non-academic position. I thought it expressed some of the sentiments of leaving in such a tender and apt way that I got permission for all of you to read it, too.

Life right now is simpler, sweeter, more satisfying… and despite the initial trauma and some of the very dramatic unforeseen consequences… leaving remains the right choice for me. Sadly, the choice is often confirmed as I interact with my peers who stayed and struggle on.

That’s not to say I don’t ever think of finishing my PhD. I do, often; but these days I do things on my terms or not at all. My terms for re-engaging the diss have partially revealed themselves to me… if it is meant to be and when the time is right the rest of my terms for completion will become clear as well.

In the meantime, opportunities abound: to do work I find politically meaningful; to experiment with ways of being political and an agent of change in mainstream work-life environments — now there’s a challenge!; and, oddly enough, to connect back to university communities in more creative ways than the mainstream university worker. Since leaving, the latter options have always danced at the periphery of my world. I can pick and choose from these now; although, mostly, I continue to stay at arm’s length until I’m sure of my terms!

It’s only in leaving and exploring other workspaces that I realised that being a researcher is a mindset that bolsters creativity and yields practice. That mindset is precious and needs to be nurtured, not disciplined. It needs engagement, appreciation and discernment, not constant judgement and correction. In the end, I think I’d actually make a better academic — certainly a kinder, gentler and wiser one — having left academe than I ever did in academe. Ironic!

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • email
  • LinkedIn
  • MySpace
  • Reddit
  • Slashdot
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati
  • Tumblr
  • TwitThis
  • Yahoo! Buzz

{ 3 comments }

gran-torino-posterBefore the global economic meltdown, the prospect of leaving academia with Ph.D. in hand was generally perceived as a pretty crazy idea. Now that the shit has hit the fan in the university sector, it’s being perceived more widely as a smart career decision, or even a sensible detour while you wait for the academic jobs to open up again.

But way back in the day–I’m talking 2006, here–my decision to leave was cooked up in a very different economic context. The idea of having a Ph.D. but not being a university teacher probably looked to a lot of people like something bordering on insanity. And sometimes I did feel a little nutty to be considering the idea at all.

I was reminded of some of those crazy feelings this weekend when my crack I.T. team and I sat down to watch Gran Torino.

You know Gran Torino–the Clint Eastwood movie. The one where he growls and becomes a transformed person. The one that is ostensibly about anti-racism but is really about an old white guy. The one that people said was “masterful,” and “a cinematic tour de force” and rubbish like that. The one that left me scratching my head and turning to my crack I.T. team to say, “Huh?”

Now, Gran Torino, like grad school, has a lot of things going for it. It has a shiny, exciting car, an empathetic underdog character who you love cheering on, and most of all, it has Clint Eastwood. I understand that in many corners of the cinema-going world, Clint Eastwood can do no wrong. And really, he does turn in a great performance in this movie. Every time he turns around hefting a pistol or rifle in his hand, you get a little thrill, a little “Oh, shit! Clint Eastwoods got a gun!” kind of a thrill.

Similarly, grad school has little thrilling moments. There are those times in the classroom when you feel like you’re really connecting with your students. There are those moments in a seminar when your prof is setting your mind on fire. There are those amazing hours you spend getting lost in the stacks, devouring books and journals.

But then you start to realize that the whole isn’t the sum of its parts. You get to the point where you can’t deny that your relationship to this thing is breaking down. You start thinking, as I did over the weekend, “Um…WTF is going on here? Where is this plot going? Did Gran Torino get destroyed in the editing room?”

The difficult part about this, though, is feeling like you’re the only one who ever thinks this way. “I thought Gran Torino/grad school was going to be fantastic,” you think. “Everyone said it was a good idea.” “Am I the only one seriously not enjoying this?” “Am I crazy to just want to just press ’stop’ and try something different?”

Folks, I’m telling you, I watched Gran Torino to the end and I kind of wish I hadn’t. The first 1/4 of the movie was satisfyingly quirky in its own, poorly-edited way. The rest was craptastic. Whether you make the choice to leave grad school mid-stream, after the Ph.D., or once you’ve already got tenure, you’re making the choice to open yourself to possibility. You are sparing yourself–even if you don’t get to see the ending of that particular story.

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • email
  • LinkedIn
  • MySpace
  • Reddit
  • Slashdot
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati
  • Tumblr
  • TwitThis
  • Yahoo! Buzz

{ 6 comments }

Fancy Extra Sleeves by monkeyatlargeA reader recently sent me a link to this New York Times piece on the value of an MA, and I found myself feeling really surprised about how many people had a negative attitude towards it. Maybe it’s because part of my job is to hang out with PhDs who regret having done a PhD at all (”why didn’t I just stop at the MA?”). Maybe it’s because I did feel like the MA experience was valuable in and of itself. Maybe it’s because I do feel strongly that the MA gives you a leg up from your BA vis-a-vis research skills (which, hello, are transferable skills on the job market). But I just can’t just on the “what’s the point of an MA?” train.

From an educational standpoint, an MA seems like a great idea. I can’t imagine suggesting to anyone that spending a year or two (fine, or three) elevating your studies, getting the chance to work intensely on a research project for probably the first time in your life, and (I mean this sincerely) getting a taste of a grad school experience that is less likely to crush your soul than the PhD experience is a bad idea.

From an economic point of view, it also seems smart. Sure there are opportunity costs blah blah blah. But it seems to me that MAs open employment doors, not close them (the way some people feel about the PhD, which, for the record, I do not). It’s not a professional degree, but it is a way to angle yourself into higher-level positions than what a BA may limit you to. In this age of credential inflation, isn’t getting an MA a good idea?

And guess what? Statistics Canada backs me up. This is from a 2002 study available on the StatsCan site:

Students who had graduated with a bachelor’s degree in 1990 were earning, on average, $38,000 five years later, Master’s graduates earned, on average, about one-third more ($50,000), although earnings varied considerably by level of education, field of study and sex. In terms of prospects for employment, the unemployment rate for bachelor’s graduates has, on average, been higher than the rate for master’s and PhD graduates. This is also an indication that a master’s degree is beneficial in terms of improving one’s likelihood of having a job.

Not to mention the fact that this StatsCan report indicates MAs in Canada earn 33% more than BAs (and PhDs earn 8% more than MAs, statistically).

What do you think of the value of the MA? Do you wish you’d just stopped there? Or have you stopped with an MA and still have wild thoughts of a PhD?

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • email
  • LinkedIn
  • MySpace
  • Reddit
  • Slashdot
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati
  • Tumblr
  • TwitThis
  • Yahoo! Buzz

{ 7 comments }

Amazeing by AnonymousA reader contacted me last week to share the photograph on the right and a reflection on leaving academia. I thought it was a nice day to end of the work week:

I thought I would share with you a photograph I took that captures my leaving-academia sentiment. I took this photograph on campus while I was doing my Master’s there. I like the juxtaposition between the cold, set sidewalk and the friendly dirt path that students have worn in the otherwise manicured lawn. To me it shows that you can create your own path even when the university is bent on you following the path they have laid out for you.

I’m still at the beginning of my PhD, but I do not plan to continue in academia when (if!) I complete it. Like you, I enjoy research, writing, teaching; a friend recently referred me to your site and I am appreciative of it because the PhD, while it has components I enjoy, also tends to beat me into the ground and is primarily my way of biding time while I figure out what else I can do with my life. I know I can and will create my own path; I have come to that realization after a very difficult first year in the PhD. Deciding that I won’t be continuing in academia is actually the key to me being able to relax, enjoy myself, and believe in myself.

With that, I’m going to suggest that you give that a try this weekend: relaxing, enjoying yourself and believing in yourself. See you next week!

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • email
  • LinkedIn
  • MySpace
  • Reddit
  • Slashdot
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati
  • Tumblr
  • TwitThis
  • Yahoo! Buzz

{ 1 comment }

New York Public Library by victoriapeckhamI recently got an email from a reader named Hinne Hettema, asking me if I could comment on the challenges faced by former academics who continue to publish scholarly research after they leave. I told him that I knew little about this topic, having had no desire to do academic research once I’d quit. I knew there had been a recent WRK4US discussion on the topic, and even a call for papers for a book on the subject. But Hinne had clearly done a lot of thinking on the topic, though, so I invited him to write a guest post. Here are Hinne’s thoughtful insights–and let us hear your own!

Here’s a question. Suppose you manage to leave academia and find employment on the outside. But what to do with your research? In this post, I’ll try to outline that it is not necessary to leave research behind altogether, even though there are a number of issues to consider. If you find that the opportunity to do research and publish is what keeps you in academia (but there is little else keeping you there) you are not alone and should probably get out. Is there a way to avoid throwing the baby out with the bathwater?

I found myself in this situation about twelve years ago. The bright colors of that what attracted me to seek an academic career in the first place, the opportunity to apply my best thinking skills to do scientific research relatively autonomously, had faded into the grey realisation that I was getting paid (and rather badly at that) to work on someone else’s problems, in an unattractive environment, with few further career prospects. To put it bluntly, the autonomy and freedom of thought that I craved, and once hoped to find inside academia, was in reality hiding somewhere else.

So I left academia in 1997, after my second post-doc, and never really looked back. But I am trying, with more or less success, to stay active as a researcher. I have maintained a connection with my last university. It pretty much involves academic library access with borrowing privileges, email and a letterbox at the department.

This sort of setup brings up the ‘independent scholar’ question rather quickly, and in my experience there is a large, but undeserved, label attached to independent scholarship that urgently needs modification. Yes, there are indepdent scholars working on witchcraft and UFOs, independent scholars that put out amateurish work, and just plain cranks that call themselves independent scholars. There are two answers to that charge.

First, amateurism, crankiness and substandard work is not limited to independent scholars. For every independent scholar working on UFOs there is probably a ‘real’ academic doing exactly the same; for every cranky ‘independent scholar’ there exists, somewhere, a similarly cranky academic.

But a more interesting objection is that the fact that there are some bad independent scholars does not in turn mean that all independent scholars can be safely regarded as amateurish cranks.

I consider myself an ‘independent scholar’ precisely in the sense that I am entirely autonomous, and can work on the problems that interest me whenever and wherever I want. But I am beholden to normal standards of professionalism. I submit my papers to regular journals, have my work peer reviewed and also act as a reviewer for a journal now and then. In short, I am a researcher like all others, just one that’s not beholden to funding agencies, regular research assessment, annual job search angst, budget cuts, vacuous exercises in academic ‘excellence’ and other such distractions that just hoover up valuable research time. I am more than happy to leave all that to the professionals. They, after all, get paid to deal with that sort of crap.

On the other hand, this sort of independent scholarship also has a number of issues associated with it. I think it is important to map out what they are, and to solicit and suggest ways of overcoming these drawbacks.

The reason for this is simple. My hunch is that an increasing number of disciplines will in the future increasingly depend on independent scholars (in the sense of independent academics) for their continued vitality (Witness the fate of many German departments currently in the US). It should also be recognised that what I am hinting at here (professional scholars with a non-academic source of income) have been the norm rather than the exception throughout history.’ The model for the university we accept as ‘normal’ in an academic environment originated somewhere in the 1880s on the Continent, and died somewhere in the 1980s. It won’t be back for a while. The sooner we can make the transition that decouples serious scholarship from academic tenure, the better off we’ll all be.

So what do I think are the key issues?

Sustaining motivation is probably the most important issue, and what I find is that many of the crutches that one can use in traditional academia to overcome this are not available in that form to someone working ‘independently’. There is no pressure to publish, which is a bonus, but it can also be a drawback. Currently I have two specific commitments: I have a book to write and promised someone a chapter for a collection, but I’m talking more or less self-imposed deadlines here.

Not having any time or funds to attend conferences is another important one. To facilitate independent scholars, more conferences should be online, and this is a development that I watch with interest. I notice that it is the less established branches of my subject, where funding lines are uncertain and where no ingrained patterns and habits have yet taken hold, that are making the largest inroads in this arena.

Being fairly invisible professionally a is a third issue. In my view, a few significant changes are required at various scholarly organisations to accommodate researchers who are not full time academics. What is required, in my view, is a notion of professional proficiency that is not immediately linked to an academic career. As I said above, I suspect that this will become increasingly important for the health of many disciplines in the future, with more and more academic ‘leavers’ taking significant expertise with them, increasing teaching loads for the ’stayers’, and wholesale department closures becoming more commonplace.

That’s it for the issues. I’d really be interested in reading about other people’s experiences in this regard, or maybe contribute to a robust debate on how to best advance the cause of independent scholars.

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • email
  • LinkedIn
  • MySpace
  • Reddit
  • Slashdot
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati
  • Tumblr
  • TwitThis
  • Yahoo! Buzz

{ 10 comments }

women - men by roensWell, this just goes to show that we really are connected. Yesterday, commenter RFYL noted that most of the people I’ve interviewed for my podcast are women, and a fifth of the fans of the Facebook page are women. I can also tell you that most of my clients are women and most of the people who send me “Yay!” or “Can you blog about this?” type of emails are from women.

As it happens, I was actually just discussing this fact with a friend of mine the night before RFYL left his/her comment. I’ve been aware, ever since I started this project, that I am in contact with far more women who are thinking of and who have left academia. I’ve been wanting to post about this for a long time, but the reason why I haven’t is because I don’t have any strong theories to explain this phenomenon. For someone who spent most of her time in university studying theories of gender, this is a real stumper.

On the most systemic level, you could look at the ways in which academia is hostile for women. There are overt instances of sexual harassment and sexual assault, of course. But as the book title suggests, women academics can and do feel the weight of a ton of feathers, teeny individual moments of exclusion, oppression, rejection, objectification, hostility and so on. Moreover, in Canada, more women are enrolled in undergrad programs than men, but by the time you look at enrollments for Ph.D. programs, there are fewer women than men overall (though of course, this varies wildly by degree program in much the ways you’d expect).

There are also particular pressures on women of colour in the academy (though I’ve read more data about women of colour and their completion rates in the U.S. than in Canada). There are particular pressures on feminists in the academy. And although I never experienced being a mom while in grad school, but I think we’ve all heard the dire news about the rates at which moms get tenure. Fact is, they generally don’t.

You might wonder how much my own biases skew my choice of podcast interviewees (since I run another website addressing women’s issues and can easily say that some of my best friends are women). I can’t tell you how much my sub- or unconscious plays a role here, but I can tell you there is no deliberate intention on my part to only speak with women. My interview subjects are gleaned from a variety of sources. Sometimes I just happen to stumble upon information about someone that I find intriguing (like Rebecca Steinitz). Sometimes it’s a friend of a friend (like Krista Scott-Dixon). Sometimes it’s a former colleague (like Michelle Lowry, who left her Ph.D. program to do a Master’s of Social Work instead). Sometimes it’s someone that someone has alerted me to (like Sharon Blady).

I have interviewed men–most recently, I interviewed a former colleague, Fred Ho, who is a union organizer here in Toronto. My interview before that was with Kenny Mostern, who penned the On Being Postacademic article I’ve got posted here. A while back, I interviewed Michael Anderson, another entrepreneur who helps entrepreneurs. I’ve also done off-the-record interviews with men who didn’t want their accounts to be public (one because he didn’t think much of his accomplishments; the other because he was still dealing with a lot of negative feelings from the whole Ph.D. experience).

Still, that’s comparatively few. Yet I don’t purposely seek out women–but it seems that women readers (commenters, clients, Facebook folks) do seek me out.

On a micro-level, there could be something about me being a woman that draws women to my work. Conversely, there could be something about me being a women that makes men uninterested (which is not to render you male readers invisible! I know you’re out there, ye who lurk and email me confidentially!).

And then there could be something in between, something about gender formation more generally that informs how men and women make decisions about their education and their careers. I mean, we do know that women systematically make choices about their careers that often leave them in pink-collar ghettos, or reliant on their (often male) spouse’s income.

There is also data to indicate that women are voracious users of online communities, though I think that data skews towards moms. But perhaps women more generally turn to the internet for community and for help than men do. Perhaps men who are making the decision to leave academia would be more likely to turn to their traditional (i.e. real-world) networks. I have no idea.

I honestly have no good theories (and for a former theorist, it kinda hurts to say that!) and very little evidence to explain why this is the case. But you KNOW that I would love to hear your ideas about why my work draws more women (which proves absolutely nothing about how frequently men and women leave academe).

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • email
  • LinkedIn
  • MySpace
  • Reddit
  • Slashdot
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati
  • Tumblr
  • TwitThis
  • Yahoo! Buzz

{ 6 comments }

picture-10This morning while I was lying in bed trying to decide whether or not I had penumonia (yeah, like the “Dr.” in front of my name is REALLY going to help me with that), I came across this post by Alexis over at her A Blog to be Named Later. The post is titled, “Why leaving academia is harder than I thought it would be,” and boy, does she really hit the nail on the head. Even though it’s been three years since I left, Alexis’ summation of her feelings really brought back memories of my own departure. Anyone who is undergoing this transition can no doubt connect with Alexis when she writes,

It’s not just leaving a career or changing jobs; it’s leaving behind an old identity, a false, ill-fitting one, so that there can be room for my authentic self to emerge.

This was, hands down, absolutely how I felt when I left academia. And of course, it’s precisely because I am more myself now than I ever was in all the years I spent in grad school that making the choice to quit was absolutely the right one. But even though I knew the life of academia was too narrow for me, and even though I had a strong feeling I would be of much greater use to the world in a different professional capacity, making the decision to leave was fraught with intense emotions. Alexis speaks about those emotions so honestly. Check it out and see if you identify.

Update on another great blog: I’ve just found YoungFemaleScientist, written by Ms. Ph.D. This is the first time I’ve stumbled across this blog (and it sounds, from this post here, like she’s planning on leaving academia, actually). It’s quite enjoyable reading, even for a former social scientist like me (especially because she’s got quite a solid gender perspective). But this post, Feeling Not Good Enough, might also resonate with readers of this blog.

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • email
  • LinkedIn
  • MySpace
  • Reddit
  • Slashdot
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati
  • Tumblr
  • TwitThis
  • Yahoo! Buzz

{ 13 comments }

Useful Arts? by DipfanOver the past few years, there have been more and more rumblings about the need for research conducted in the humanities and social sciences to be “relevant” to the general public (or taxpayers, as the debate is often framed). The recession has made this demand even more pressing. Mark Taylor was getting at that a little bit in his NYT op-ed. But this also came up recently in Canada when the federal budget earmarked some SSHRC money for “business-related degrees.”

Generally, my stomach turns when I read stories involving universities becoming more “relevant,” because that’s usually code for “commodified.” Because it’s not always immediately self-evident why certain strains of research are important, social sciences and humanities disciplines are often held up for ridicule and scrutiny (remember when Frank magazine used to mock the titles of papers presented at the Learneds?). In turn, the fear is that if the mandates of funding bodies and universities change in response to this need for knowledge to be immediately applicable to something, the role universities play will be devalued. The research that grad students and faculty produce will be held up to a commercial standard (rather than the standard of peer review), i.e. one in which studying Chaucer is much less important than producing widgets.

But I also know that scholars secretly wonder about the value of their work by wondering how useful it is. Generally, though, it’s only the former academics I talk to who admit to having thoughts like, “Is my work really useful?” When asked of oneself (rather than having the question posed to you by a funding body with an explicit policy mandate of utility behind it), this question usually means, “How is my work manifesting itself in the world?” Or more to the point, “Is my work making a difference?”

For the people who have left academia, the answer is, typically, no. What I’ve found consistently in my interviews with former academics is that there is a desire to connect with people that goes beyond the standard confines of an academic career–even a wildly successful one. For leavers, the number of articles published in peer-reviewed journals ceases to matter at the point where connecting with people (beyond the journal’s narrow audience) becomes more important.

And yet, there is still a vigorous denial about the need for scholars to feel like they’re making a contribution to society. They don’t need to feel that way because they’re making a contribution to scholarship. But for those of you who are thinking about leaving, is the desire to make a difference in the world a factor motivating your decision? Or is being useful just being a sellout?

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • email
  • LinkedIn
  • MySpace
  • Reddit
  • Slashdot
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati
  • Tumblr
  • TwitThis
  • Yahoo! Buzz

{ 5 comments }

Leaving on a Jet Plane by Mr. ThomasLast week’s issue of Toronto’s NOW magazine had an interview with British director Steve McQueen (no, not that Steve McQueen…the one who’s alive and directed Hunger). In it, he said,

At the end of the day, you know, we die. It’s not about money or how much stuff you can take with you–it’s all about what you do. As long as I can pay my mortgage, I’m happy–it’s as simple as that. Therefore we can take risks, because what else is there? There’s nothing else to do, literally. As long as you can have shelter and you can eat and you’ve some clothes on your back, what else is there to do but to take risks?

I thought this was really inspiring for Leaving Academia readers…until I remembered that when you’re considering a career change, it’s not just about self-actualization. It is precisely about being able to pay the mortgage, have shelter, eat and keep the clothes on your back. Staying in academia as a contract prof makes it very, very difficult to do that, but leaving academia doesn’t promise any of those things, either. Hence the quandary academics face.

But I also read another interview with a different director, published in another local publication about a month ago. This was with Adventureland’s Greg Mottola, who said, “If this film doesn’t work out, there’s literally nothing on this planet I can do well.”

This also echoes the sentiments that so many grad students and scholars feel–if I don’t get a tenure-track job, there is nothing else I can do with my life to support myself. This brought me back to the question I’ve had for years: in what ways is being an academic-leaver different from leaving other types of jobs? What is it about academia that makes it seemingly more wrenching to leave than other careers in other sectors?

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • email
  • LinkedIn
  • MySpace
  • Reddit
  • Slashdot
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati
  • Tumblr
  • TwitThis
  • Yahoo! Buzz

{ 3 comments }