On Learning to Start Realizing My Ambitions As a Scientist (UPDATED)

I want to thank everyone who participated in the discussion of my last post. You guys generously responded to a thoughtlessly poised question. DrugMonkey, Comrade PhysioProf, Ms. PhD and Professor in Training, to name a few authors of blogs I frequent, have reached the same consensus that my working scientist readers have on the shortage and varying quality of available science jobs. They have dispensed advice and aired complaints accordingly:
Read more. . .

Discussion of one more reason why a job applicant's creativity dramatically increases her chances of landing one of the jobs that are acknowledged to be excruciatingly few in number, by Glamour Magz Rock Star PI Who Is Succeeding Within the System.

Brief note of the importance of "soft funding" to the existence of many science jobs, by Well-Respected Rock Star PI Who Is Succeeding Within the System.


Discussion about how much time a postdoc contending for jobs as rare as hen's teeth has to prove her competitiveness in terms of grants, by Well-Respected Rock Star PI Who Is Succeeding Within the System.

Discussion that makes me think tangentially about Ambivalent Academic's observations of "cheap labor" in academic science, by Well-Respected Rock Star PI Who Is Succeeding Within the System.

Discussion of the "pyramid structure" system that the dearth of science jobs (especially those that afford you meaningful independence) represents, an admonition to learn to work within this system to succeed, and one of my favorite posts ever despite several problems I spy in feeling this way, by Glamour Magz Rock Star PI Who Is Succeeding Within the System.

Discussion of whether or not men unfairly get what few jobs there are, by Experienced Postdoc for Whom the System Is Presently Failing.

Disclosure of what it's like to conduct an unsuccessful search for one of these jobs that almost nobody has, by Experienced Postdoc for Whom the System Is Presently Failing.

Reflection on what it takes in the first place to complete the training required for science jobs you aren't guaranteed to get, by Experienced Postdoc for Whom the System Is Presently Failing.

Reflection on the availability of the industry jobs in science which are allegedly more plentiful than the academic ones, by Experienced Postdoc for Whom the System Is Presently Failing.

Discussion of just how much your ability to publish, in addition to your publications themselves, matter to your job prospects, by Experienced Postdoc for Whom the System Is Presently Failing.

Discussion of a guide to science careers for undergrads, grad students, and postdocs anxious about their lack of choices, by Rising Starlet PI Who Is Succeeding Within the System.

Discussion of the role of luck in your landing a coveted and rare science job, by Rising Starlet PI Who Is Succeeding Within the System.

Advice on how to approach the extremely competitive science job market, by Rising Starlet PI Who Is Succeeding Within the System.

Here's a few more, by bloggers I did not name above:

Discussion of how much easier is it for one sex over the other to get one of these scarce jobs, by Level-Headed Crazy-Perceptive Postdoc Who Is Succeeding Within the System.

Discussion of scientists surprisingly leaving those exalted academic posts for posts in industry and the possible effect of this on job quality, by Fashionista and Rising Star PI Who Is Succeeding Within the System.


Discussion of the role of protectionism in American science job availability, by Fashionista and Rising Star PI Who Is Succeeding Within the System. *

I do want to pay my own serious attention to the availability and quality of science jobs, because I have yet to do my own substantial research. However, in my last post, the question represents a peripheral issue. I have really been nervous over whether I have the courage and maturity—the conscientiousness-- I’ll need to be the scientist I want to be.

Toaster Sunshine inspired a good conversation. Becca, Massimo and Ambivalent Academic have provided responses that I think deserve their own post. First, I’ll discuss them here, and, second, I’ll segue into an expose of the kind of person I’ve been, careerwise, for the last ten years. Wow. This unvarnished-truth blogging rocks! I love blogging about worries that may not make for enticing blog fodder! And I’ve been a little fond of sarcasm too, lately. So I’m ready to go.

Becca, a reader long possessed of snarky astuteness, pointed out my false dichotomy. I’m relieved. I hadn’t realized how cranky I’d gotten. I should have readily admitted that scientists may do science a service by dissuading the green and starry-eyed; only the joyfully devoted will answer the call. I’ve read recently that in the early twentieth-century, many academics, especially American ones, dismissed physics as a dead dog. “There’s nothing more to discover!” I hadn’t realized how scarce physics jobs were at this time. Physicists who found employment were willing to starve alone in caves just to do their work.

I should have also reminded myself that I do not let people tell me what to do for a living anymore. Nor do I shirk a challenge. Who wants a job that’s easy to get, anyway? Who really wants to be the big fish in the small pond? Yes. This is how you genuinely feel when you’ve grown up in a Republican family of nonpareil workaholics, and, despite the objections of the friends and acquaintances you most highly esteem, you still fancy yourself an updated, swarthy version of Dagny Taggart—minus John Galt and the rest of the unappetizing denouement to boot. Or when you simply prefer a difficult life to an empty one. Or when you’re me.

(Incidentally: No. This is not an endorsement of monomania. Not a full-throated one, anyway. Oh, Jasheebs. I can’t wait until I catch flack for my future discussion of that.)

Massimo has wisely reminded me to depend on quantitative data whenever I get it. Since I have to protect myself against my own dangerously impressionable mind, I welcome this reminder. He also reminded me that job stability doesn’t exist, not at a probability so high it’s worth prioritizing above my research interests. Then, too, I never stopped wanting to muster the courage to do the research I want to do.

Ambivalent Academic, with her usual perceptiveness, has reminded me to keep determining how closely I want to cooperate with “The System”. I’d planned a more careful post on this, but I am always willing to work within the system, and to strive to effect change from within. Too closely cooperating, though, can coax one to ignore the evil bonfires and eaten young. That’s a banal observation now. But it quickly won’t be, once I get going.

When will I get going?!

For the first time in my life, I know what I want to do. I think for myself, and I respect myself. I worship no one, however. I do not allow peers to pressure me into their interests. I do not change my plans for boys. I no longer want to marry, and I no longer want to have children. In place of an insufferably thoughtless tendency to make crushing emotional demands of my friends, I now fret over every possibility that I am asking for too much. Know what? That’s better. Not ideal, but better. That’s better than vampirizing people. I would rather give than take. I will talk brashly, but I proceed with caution. I listen and watch more than I talk. I do not demand attention from those who don’t want to pay attention to me, and I give more credit to those who do. I have learned to take my life seriously by taking myself less seriously. I take authentic risks and not posturing ones; I, the Chicken Hypersensitive, will clumsily but firmly risk rejection by any number of programs and people in place of disinterestedly and illegally climbing a hundred-foot fire escape after a disastrous idol drunk on Scotch because I don’t feel anything anymore and am too afraid to walk away. In work that demands creativity, I don’t confuse sloppiness with spontaneity or inspiration. I state what I want, and I allow myself to cringe and move on when I am told no. I do not make Bibles of novels. I no longer understand why anyone would want to live a life punctuated by insipid fairy-tale endings. This hodgepodge of personal miracles represents the making of the most ideal of my adventures. It also represents a person I’ve endured much pain to become.

I accept that I did myself no favors by refusing to treat my bipolar-spectrum depressive disorder for almost a decade, due to my mystic belief that “depressive disorders” were excuses for weakness and that Big Pharma antidepressants inevitably killed countless neurons, only to break down and take ecstasy twice. I accept that of all my youthful experiments, this is the one I wish I hadn’t done. I no longer fear my morbid curiosity about the brain damage I incurred both from the untreated depression and the euphoria induced by the MDMA, and I accept that, right now, the desire to understand it exceeds my worry about Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s. That’s just who I am now. I’m glad.

(Even as I write, I am gleefully wondering why Wellbutrin causes me to start seeing the “electrical showers” that my doctors told me I could ignore twelve hours after my last dose. Isn’t this stuff supposed to metabolize quickly out of the system? I have had a fascination with Wellbutrin for a year now, because I take it and because it’s pharmacologically mysterious and unique.)

I have transformed from someone who energetically drifted through her twenties into someone I like who has an authentic direction. I’ve never had this before. I’ve never said, “Come now, Juniper. What do you really want to do?” I’ve never before been happily strategic. I’ve certainly never been the kind of person who can say to a mentor, “I’m currenly drawn to articles about virology and prions, and, despite its tragically inauspicious start, I haven’t given up on the idea of gene therapy. I like the idea of hard science that gives people second and fifth chances.” It’s such a small thing, I know. So many of my peers have already become wildly successful people. But it’s mine, at last. I’m so happy I’m beginning not to care that I’ve received it “late”. I always wondered what it was like to do something because I wanted to do it, not because it impressed people or just because I could.

One of my top-choice pre-med post-baccalaureate programs—of the group willing to train both aspiring doctors and researchers—is in Northern California, where my sister and closest friend live. I like Northern California and I detest LA, and I have been largely planning to relocate near my old undergrad stomping grounds. However, I have not fully relinquished my eighteen-year-old’s dream of moving to New England, far out of my comfort zone and way too far for my parents to expect me to fly home on every holiday, and developing into an independent, warm woman with her own brand of intellectual glamour. (A post of PiT’s stirred my wistfulness again, several days ago.) And I do not want to tell you that I feel like an ignorant minor who has no clue how to actualize a grand plan like that. I’ve always just insisted on dreaming about it and remaining a baby-- without even realizing that I was doing that. Ugh. You have no idea how over it I am.

Have you read Arlenna’s post on conquering procrastination? Read it. I’m trying to take her advice. I’ve begun by making a giant timetable of goals that focus on baby steps to take over the next year and a half. I’m obsessive compulsive and I fare well with wonderfully organized lists of goals made achievable by dividing them into numerous tiny tasks. I have simply never tried it on this scale before. I want to include a lot of medical and human genetics reading, in addition to studying to take the GRE for the first time. I even want to meet some of the amateur scientists hacking genomes in their garages in this area. (Eppendork! I’m sorry! But it’s the truth.) Now, that would take My Fair Scientist to another level!

This is what has preoccupied me, and what’s been behind my thoughtless question about numbers of scientists and numbers of science jobs in America. I wanted to write you a brutally structured story with painstaking details. What the hell. It’s my blog.

P.S. It’s 2:31 am, Pacific Time. I will edit this and include the links I ought to have after I get some fucking sleep.

UPDATE:

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is the LAST time my lazy ass publishes an unedited post! I think I'm trying to win the prize for irresponsibility, this week . . .


*Yes. I know that I don't really know anything for sure about these people's careers, and I am just taking their word for it. You guys have got to allow me some blogging poetic license, though.