Transitions

An odd feeling. For the past several years, aside from one spent working in the bowels of an underground physics experiment (which, sadly, resulted in *no* superpowers), I have purchased at least one notebook, planned to attend or teach at least one class, and, in short, settled myself into some institution of learning as my primary focus during the Fall months.

Except this year.

Oh sure, I'm working on my dissertation. I have papers to write for conferences, paperwork to fill out for the university, library fines overdue, stacks of books, reams of paper, and a credit hour to pay for. I have mounds of academic work, so no worries on missing out on that. But instead of that annual starting line, I feel like I'm just in the long marathon.

I'm happy that I took on a full-time position. I work in an environment friendly to academic endeavors and supportive of my dissertation work. Being around the NEH has already taught me a lot about the process of successful grant-writing, as well as enhanced my education on the politics inherent in teaching, learning and 'knowledge production.' And it pays a hell of a lot better than my previous job, which had its own rewards, none of which really paid the rent.

With a baby on the way (something we found out after I took the job), making this move seemed serendipitous. It was also a cautious decision on my part - with the academic job market plunging into an even deeper black hole, I decided that I wanted to flesh out my resume/c.v. so that I (hopefully) would be attractive in both academic and non-academic markets. I had read, seen, and heard too many stories about academics - all of them perfectly qualified - not finding jobs, or stuck in the adjunct rut, or taking on entry-level, corporate positions alongside freshly minted BAs, with the same pay, seven to nine years late. These are the nightmares of Ph.D. lore, the dark columns of the Chronicle. And though I have a reasonable amount of faith in my qualifications and capabilities as a scholar, I also have this tendency to acknowledge that the great Academic Machine has rolled over plenty of folks just like me. Best to take some steps to allow me a chance in both worlds. Eggs in many baskets, was my thinking.

But a part of me - the part that gave up years of income potential to attend grad school, the part that loves the joy and stress and thrill and panic of being in front of a classroom, the part that loves research, reading, intense discourse - looks on with (always friendly) envy as friends and loved ones prep their classes, write their syllabi, and worry about the start the semester. Because, for the first time in a long time, Fall won't start for me until the leaves change.

Then again, I do get to work in my own ivory tower.