Thumbnail photo courtesy: R. Slaughter, 2020
Visiting family after my job
The question keeps coming up - why did I leave?
I didn’t consciously decide to leave. I needed a break, and that break came before I asked for it.
On September 19, 2019, which happens to be International Talk Like a Pirate Day, I receive news that makes me go AAAARRRGGHH. It shatters my world.
Three weeks before this day, I had renewed my 1-year contract as Research Assistant Professor (RAP). It’s my fourth contract. Dynamics have been up and down with my work and my boss, and I believe that this will be my last contract here, when I will finish up what has been started. Then I will find something else to do. RAP roles are never tenure-track or permanent anyway.
Sooner than expected, I learn, "We no longer have funds for this branch of research. I have to shut it down."
Indeed, the funds I secured three years ago have now run out, my last 3 grant applications did not succeed, and the paper we’ve submitted to a journal is not yet published. The university is probably unconvinced it’s worth keeping me.
My contract will end early. "You have 3 months to find another position," she says.
Shock, anger, and sadness hit me. Then comes embarrassment because I've started to cry in front of my boss in her office, even though she acknowledges my contributions and pledges her support to my search of another position.
Inside this storm rings a quiet, crystal clear voice: I don't want "another position".
Visiting family after my job
The question keeps coming up - why did I leave?
I didn’t consciously decide to leave. I needed a break, and that break came before I asked for it.
On September 19, 2019, which happens to be International Talk Like a Pirate Day, I receive news that makes me go AAAARRRGGHH. It shatters my world.
Three weeks before this day, I had renewed my 1-year contract as Research Assistant Professor (RAP). It’s my fourth contract. Dynamics have been up and down with my work and my boss, and I believe that this will be my last contract here, when I will finish up what has been started. Then I will find something else to do. RAP roles are never tenure-track or permanent anyway.
Sooner than expected, I learn, "We no longer have funds for this branch of research. I have to shut it down."
Indeed, the funds I secured three years ago have now run out, my last 3 grant applications did not succeed, and the paper we’ve submitted to a journal is not yet published. The university is probably unconvinced it’s worth keeping me.
My contract will end early. "You have 3 months to find another position," she says.
Shock, anger, and sadness hit me. Then comes embarrassment because I've started to cry in front of my boss in her office, even though she acknowledges my contributions and pledges her support to my search of another position.
Inside this storm rings a quiet, crystal clear voice: I don't want "another position".
The unplanned struggle
I don't know what I want. I have invested genuine commitment, curiosity, and love for research. I have worked around the clock, mentored students, and in this case, been instrumental in getting new lab operational. I've done this in multiple academic roles on multiple continents.
It’s not enough though. In the eyes of those who reward academics with academic roles, I’ve achieved very little. I’ve not published lots of papers in prestigious journals, secured lots of grant money, started a company, patented anything, nada.
I did join this 9-month old lab in 2016 and help it transform from one mostly empty room with three people to a multi-room research operation filled with resources, equipment, knowledge & documentation, and 12+ technically proficient students and research assistants. I mentored 4 undergraduates who wrote a paper together and helped numerous new graduate students adapt to the world of research and scientific communication.
My boss acknowledges all this, “Your biggest contribution is the people you mentored.”
She says I might be a great fit for a small liberal arts college (these are common in the US) and offers to write me any letter of recommendation I ask for.
It’s not enough though. In the eyes of those who reward academics with academic roles, I’ve achieved very little. I’ve not published lots of papers in prestigious journals, secured lots of grant money, started a company, patented anything, nada.
I did join this 9-month old lab in 2016 and help it transform from one mostly empty room with three people to a multi-room research operation filled with resources, equipment, knowledge & documentation, and 12+ technically proficient students and research assistants. I mentored 4 undergraduates who wrote a paper together and helped numerous new graduate students adapt to the world of research and scientific communication.
My boss acknowledges all this, “Your biggest contribution is the people you mentored.”
She says I might be a great fit for a small liberal arts college (these are common in the US) and offers to write me any letter of recommendation I ask for.
Sometimes, what feels like failure is just the start of finding yourself.
I declare myself permission to take a break
Fast forward three months to my last week on the job. I meet with my boss for the last time as my boss.
"I haven't received any requests for any recommendations," she says.
"I'm taking time off first," I say.
She shakes her head and says, "The more time you take off, the harder it is to get back in," she says. I've heard this before. I don’t want to believe it. Maybe it’s true. Doesn’t matter.
I tell her what I know to be true: "I need a break right now."
Thus, I declare myself permission to take a break.
I declare it to myself, to my soon-to-be former boss, and the entire lineage of previous academic supervisors who might not approve and shut off their supply of recommendation letters should I ever want “another position”.
I declare it to the friendly department administrator who says,
"Why don't you try and join Professor XX's lab? They have lots of funding."
“No. This environment is not right for me now.”
"I haven't received any requests for any recommendations," she says.
"I'm taking time off first," I say.
She shakes her head and says, "The more time you take off, the harder it is to get back in," she says. I've heard this before. I don’t want to believe it. Maybe it’s true. Doesn’t matter.
I tell her what I know to be true: "I need a break right now."
Thus, I declare myself permission to take a break.
I declare it to myself, to my soon-to-be former boss, and the entire lineage of previous academic supervisors who might not approve and shut off their supply of recommendation letters should I ever want “another position”.
I declare it to the friendly department administrator who says,
"Why don't you try and join Professor XX's lab? They have lots of funding."
“No. This environment is not right for me now.”
Rest isn’t weakness. It’s the moment you meet yourself again, gently.
And thus I jumped ship
Photo courtesy: Mom
Photo courtesy: Mom
Between what was and what’s next
During my 2013 ‘break’ between my Ph.D. and postdoc, my now 93-year-old grandma said to me, "Liane ah, there are 5 things we need to do in life. Eating, working, exercising, resting, and being lazy. Do you know the difference between resting and being lazy? Do you know which one I am the best at and you are the worst at? Doing nothing. You don’t know how to do nothing."
January 1, 2020, I wake up newly unemployed, still single, with a lease I can leave any time, and a commitment to doing nothing about any of that for at least a few months. Fortunately, I have accumulated enough savings to do so.
And I’m terrible at doing nothing. Days later, my parents and I take a private tour to Vietnam. I celebrate my 35th birthday. I set off with a giant backpack first to India to fulfill a longtime desire to visit a grad school classmate and to see some of India for the first time. I leap to Los Angeles, then Houston, and as the pandemic becomes official, I land in Maryland and stay with my brother for a few weeks.
With lots of time and confusion on hand, I reconnect with family, friends, and layers of myself that had been sidelined in my academic life. I return to Hong Kong, serve a government-mandated home quarantine, and bit-by-bit, begin my business experiments from my bedroom.
Slowly, slowly, then quickly.
January 1, 2020, I wake up newly unemployed, still single, with a lease I can leave any time, and a commitment to doing nothing about any of that for at least a few months. Fortunately, I have accumulated enough savings to do so.
And I’m terrible at doing nothing. Days later, my parents and I take a private tour to Vietnam. I celebrate my 35th birthday. I set off with a giant backpack first to India to fulfill a longtime desire to visit a grad school classmate and to see some of India for the first time. I leap to Los Angeles, then Houston, and as the pandemic becomes official, I land in Maryland and stay with my brother for a few weeks.
With lots of time and confusion on hand, I reconnect with family, friends, and layers of myself that had been sidelined in my academic life. I return to Hong Kong, serve a government-mandated home quarantine, and bit-by-bit, begin my business experiments from my bedroom.
Slowly, slowly, then quickly.
A breath of fresh air
Photo courtesy: Mom
Photo courtesy: Mom
Owning the break
Fast forward 5.5 years later after lots of struggles, I am happily busy with students, projects, and coachees. And breaks are essential for my work and well-being.
Needing work to make ends meet, it’s easy to fall into the mindset of taking on more work, another student, another networking event, another meeting, another training, and of course to squeeze in social occasions and time to see family amongst all that.
Earlier this year, it all came crashing down as 19 days of working straight led to a severe head cold that left me in bed for days.
It reminded me harshly:
I never need permission from anyone to do anything I know is necessary, like taking a break.
Needing work to make ends meet, it’s easy to fall into the mindset of taking on more work, another student, another networking event, another meeting, another training, and of course to squeeze in social occasions and time to see family amongst all that.
Earlier this year, it all came crashing down as 19 days of working straight led to a severe head cold that left me in bed for days.
It reminded me harshly:
I never need permission from anyone to do anything I know is necessary, like taking a break.
Over to you! Three free questions to coach yourself:
- In what ways do you take breaks?
- Are there times when you see/hear/feel the signs that you need to take a break but you don’t?
- How might taking that break make your life better?
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