Dear past self:You are not going to be doing what you think you will be doing. You will not be smoking a pipe in a sweater-vest, pontificating over fancy philosophies and eldritch lore while watching the snow fall from the window of your bookshelf-and-persian-rug-lined office. You will not be sitting on a throne built from the respect of society at large. You will not open the minds of scores of students who sit enthralled before you in lecture, while your melodious and booming voice sounds the mysteries of life!
No, my foolish friend, you will instead spend your youthful years, your very health, gaining a doctorate in theoretical hamsterology, the value of which is limited entirely by your ability to market yourself more effectively than the six hundred other fellows who also applied for that one academic opening in your field (because that's all you can do with that degree). Society laughs at you, you who can teach but cannot do, you ivory-tower know-it-all who knows nothing about "the real world" (whatever that is). You are a babysitter, a servant to the customer. You will pass hours upon hours wondering if death by boredom is actually possible while you serve on useless committees, you will navigate mazes of ulcer-breeding treachery and politics and jockeying, you will scramble for funding and curse the day you chose to enter this profession. You will mask your hatred of your old college buddies who had the good sense to get a job and make money, and will sup on bile as you scroll through pictures of the fancy homes and cars and vacations they purchase while you sit in your hovel (well, comparatively), whiling away a few precious minutes on your 7-year-old desktop you can't afford to replace. Not that you could enjoy your free time anyways, because every experience is simply fodder for research and teaching. You will be tormented by the thought of those happy-go-lucky nine-to-fivers who get to leave their work behind for a good portion of every day. You will find that between juggling your family, your research, your teaching, and your service, your leisure time is measured in mere minutes per week.
Well, ok, but the research is cool though. And your family is awesome. Aww, what the heck, do it anyways.
-Your future self.
Great ending!
ReplyDeleteMisono you are right! My past self loves all those things and my current self loves them as well. I couldn't imagine doing anything else. And the best part of it is, I get paid for doing it. I love the freedom of creating my schedule, my class objectives, my research. I used to work in industry and I don't think I could go back to a nine to five job. So future self, thanks for the heads up to a wonderful, yet challenging, life!
ReplyDeleteThe only thing that keeps me going is the fact that I know summer is around the corner and I will have 3 months to recuperate from a job that pays low enough that even my students are alarmed by my pay.
ReplyDeleteAmericans love to complain for the rest of their lives about the miserable time they had in high school. American academics do the same, with grad school. And for both, there are people who will tell you to enjoy it, since it's "the best time of your life." I always thought anyone who said that had limited experience. My favorite phase of my career has been serving as department Chair, since I get to do so much excellent SHOUTING!
ReplyDelete(Don't worry, no one gets it who doesn't richly deserve it. Indeed, I do surprisingly little shouting: everyone is so scared, I don't need to.)
"All I'm saying is that if I ever start referring to these as the best years of my life - remind me to kill myself."
ReplyDeleteDazed and Confused, 1993.
Especially if you make enough to outsource the marking. Then life is truly sweet.
ReplyDelete