Life as a singleton

Going home is always a dangerous situation for a post-doc. For me, I was dreading it, knowing that I would see the life that I left behind, and everything and everyone I was missing. And, it happened. I came to THAT point. The point where I have to consider that I’ve made some horrible life choices and that I am nowhere where I want to be in my personal or professional life.

Now I don’t regret my life choices, and it is easy to blame the recession for lack of jobs, and I’m sure lots of funding applications get lost…but that aside, my career is stalling, and my personal life is hanging by a thread and causing upset in everyone’s life. There is the realisation and recognition that if I don’t make some changes very, very soon, I will never be able to go back. Now I don’t mean physically or geographically here, I mean mentally to a place that involves other people – real people – in my life. I have lived alone for so long. I have spent more than half my life making sacrifices for myself and no one else. Telling myself that everything would pay off in the long run, and that when it does I can focus on other things. But I’m realising that the things I’ve always done, the way I’ve always done them, has not paid off, and I am failing in life.

I live this life that is so quiet and self-absorbed. I like being alone more than I like being with people. But I also want a home and a community, and to be with my partner. And I realise that if I don’t start making sacrifices for someone else, there won’t be anybody else. And I’m not sure if I’m not okay with that.

That didn't take long

I went from zero to loathing in 3 months.
My feelings about postdoc’ing that is.
I was so happy and proud and excited to start this next phase, but now I’m screaming to get out. Everyone says your postdoc is great; no teaching, unlimited productivity, etc. But I’ve just come off unlimited productivity. I’ve been a whirlwind of productivity. I published eight first authored manuscripts in the last 2 years. I’ve been my own PI, with my own funding. I’ve initiating multiple research projects, attended 18 conferences, done paid contract work, and described a new species, all in the past three years.
I’ve been the poster girl for productivity.

I don’t want to work on someone else’s project. I don’t want to be the only person sitting at the lab bench every day. Knowing that I’m spinning my wheels because nothing will come out of the data for years. Writing up old experiments I didn’t perform just to be third or fourth author on a manuscript. Having all my ideas be circumvented through my advisor, transformed and then passed off to my honour’s student. What am I doing? I go to Uni each day, but I don’t really have anything to do. I’m losing momentum.

I want control again.
I want my own research again.
I need a faculty position.

Objects in life are closer than they appear

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.