This week PhD comics introduced postdocs to their story line; quite aptly having them hovering in an after-life, purgatory-like state waiting to be called forward into academic positions. But post-doc’ing isn’t the after-life, it’s more like a pre-life. We are here, taking it day-by-day, waiting for our lives to begin. I look at my advisor’s life (remember we are the same age) and think how different our existences are. He’s married, has a kid, a house, a yard, a hybrid, probably even furniture in his house. I know he bought drapes the other week. Contrast with my life: I left my man, my car, my cat, sold all my furniture, moved here with two suitcases of books. For me, post-doc’ing is more of an inter-life. I had a life, I rather liked it, but gave it all up to post-doc and now I’m trying to get back to it.
This past Monday, my advisor again asked the ill-fated question about the quality of my weekend, to which I replied “good”. He commented on my different response, genuinely looking happy for me, and asked if I had ‘gotten out socialising’. Ha! It cracks me up to think he still thinks I’m normal. No, no socialising, just me. Two days of not speaking, living inside my head, going for runs, surfing the net, reading papers, and cleaning house. It was good.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not entirely unhappy. I do miss certain aspects of my old life, but am also excited to be having this new experience. I think because the post-doc is so transitory, so uncertain, I find myself looking forward mostly, and thus not really thinking about or trying to get settled here. I wonder what my next life will be like. If there is anything I know about my life, it’s that I have no idea where it will lead. I never thought I would be here; or that last place; or the place before it. I do know that I want an orange Vespa in my next life though.
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