No, I'm not that kind of doctor

Last Friday, I went out to celebrate a friend-of-a-friend's birthday, and there happened to a number of ABDs and recent PhDs present. None of us had long-term, steady work (as far as I could tell). Granted, we all have PhDs in the humanities or social sciences, so this was not at all surprising. In fact, it was a real relief to talk to people who were not surprised to hear that I have a PhD and no steady work. The problems of academia are well-worn, and I have nothing to add to the debate over how to translate a PhD into an alt-ac career or the adjunctification of the academy. (The first is hard, and the second sucks, and that's all I have to say.) My subject here is identity, and how losing the one you used to have is difficult.

An example: a year ago, when people asked what I did, I told them that I was a PhD candidate in political theory. This generally elicited positive responses, and sometimes even questions about Plato. But what to say now? A couple months ago, I could say I had "just finished" a PhD, but that's wearing thin now, four months out. "I'm unemployed" is really the only honest answer, but it feels so...incomplete.

Worse than declaring my unemployment is the inevitable response, which is usually a version of the well-meaning question, "what kind of work are you looking for?" When I was finishing up my dissertation, I would quickly diffuse this question by insisting that I would figure it out once I was finished. But what to say now? I don't have a very good or clear answer. And if I was in the shoes of the question-asker, I would be wondering what on earth I had been doing for the past five years, and whether I had been living under a rock. The answer is that I've been teaching and reading and writing for the past five years, and I have also been living under a rock.

In short: my present circumstance has called for some reinvention and career soul-searching, but this has not been the hardest part of being unemployed. The hardest part (other than lack of salary, of course) has been losing my work identity, which, in DC, is one's most defining characteristic. For half a decade, I was part of an exclusive and rarified club: academia. And now, yes, I'm unemployed. Not only that, but I need to find a whole new field. I knew this would be hard, but I wasn't expecting to feel a real sense of loss over the transition. Especially since I didn't even want to stay in academia. I guess I thought that I would be able to take some of my identity with me, that the PhD would at least confer a measure of gravitas on the years I spent working for it.

The standard reaction to being expelled from the academy is bitterness, but as someone who was happy to leave I just can't work up the requisite resentment. I do wish that post-PhDs would back off a bit from the bitterness, though, if only so there could be more space for a discussion of what to do with what we have, and how we might be able to show people outside the academy that a PhD can be an asset, even in the workplace. 

p.s.

Alex has started blogging again! Hooray! Now if we could only get Becky back in the game, it would be a virtual 5402 reunion. 

London & Oxford

I always mean to take more pictures when I travel, but I seem to get too distracted by being someplace to actually take out my camera and document it. A failure of artistic vision, probably. In any case, here are some of the pictures I remember to take on a recent trip to London and Oxford.

Tower Bridge

Interesting lighting underneath Tower Bridge

Radcliffe Camera in Oxford, with University Church of St. Mary in the background

John Locke's grave! In Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford

Reflections of Christ Church College

I was most excited about finding John Locke in Oxford--I knew Locke went to Christ Church but I had no idea he was buried there until we entered the Cathedral, and then there he was, right next to John Ruskin! I love his epitaph, though I was more impressed by the idea of being a "censor of moral philosophy" before I learned that a censor is basically a fancy Oxbridge title for a student supervisor. Josh and I were definitely the only people touring the college who were excited to find Locke's grave. In fact, to get that picture Josh had to stand and block the hallway so people would stop walking into the shot.

The Whale

I'm reading Moby Dick. This is one of those books that I said I'd never read, and now that I'm older I have to say--that list was a really stupid idea. I'm reading Moby Dick for a couple reasons: a) I've never done it before, b) it's one of Josh's favorite books, and he agreed to read American Pastoral if I read Moby Dick, c) I'm working a temp job that allows for a lot of reading time and, d) I went to visit Herman Melville's house in Pittsfield, Massachusetts over Thanksgiving, and while we were driving there I learned that everyone else in the car (Dad, Aunt E, Josh) had read the book. I really hate to be the only person who hasn't read something; it makes me think that my life's work (reading books) hasn't produced adequate results.

So, Moby Dick. It's good. My 22-year-old self who vowed never to read it was misled by Bartleby the Scrivener, because the plot of Moby Dick is decidedly catchy--at base it's really an adventure story, albeit one that contains a lot of Biblical references and allegories. I'm glad that I waited until now to read Moby Dick, though, because a few years ago I knew next to nothing about the Bible. While I'm still no expert, I can at least recognize the references now.

There is a lot of political theory in this book, including an idea of equality as something God-given and natural; the noble savages in Moby Dick are regarded as equal, if not better, than the "civilized" Christians in the book. This view reminds me a great deal of Walt Whitman and Leaves of Grass; in both works equality seems to be a natural fact rather than a political determination. It seems amazing now that Melville encountered a lot of criticism for his positive view of Queequeg and the other "savages" in his book; the portraits he draws of them are not even close to politically correct now.

Anyway, here is one of my favorite passages so far:

"Round the world! There is much in that sound to inspire proud feelings; but whereto does all that circumnavigation conduct? Only through numberless perils to the very point whence we started, where those that we left behind secure, were all the time before us.

"Were this world an endless plain, and by sailing eastward we could for ever reach new distances, and discover sights more sweet and strange than any Cyclades or Islands of King Solomon, then there were promise in the voyage. But in pursuit of those far mysteries we dream of, or in tormented chase of the demon phantom that, some time or other, swims before all human hearts; while chasing such over this round globe, they either lead us on in barren mazes or midway leave us whelmed."*

As I've been reading the book I often find myself wishing that there was a modern equivalent to the 19th century whaling voyage. Ishmael takes off and never looks back--he leaves whatever life he had behind and sets off on an adventure without any ties or expectations. The modern equivalent seems to be a backpacking trip, which strikes me as a pale imitation of an adventure like this. No matter where we go, we are always within reach of communication, always tethered to the identity we left behind.

I like the quote above, though, because it shows that I'm wrong about the whaling adventure being a truer escape. Melville points out that even on a 19th century whaling ship there was no way to fully leave yourself behind. There are only two options: either you eventually return to the place you left, or you are lost at sea. In either case, you will find yourself back where you started.

*Anyone who grew up in the 90s and loved the movie 10 Things I Hate About You will no doubt be interested to learn that one can indeed be whelmed.

i'd rather be a hammer than a nail

It's rainy and cold in DC today: perfect movie-going weather. So I went to see Wild, which I've been looking forward to seeing since learned it was being adapted into a film. I devoured the book, and when I found out that Nick Hornby was writing the screenplay I knew it would be a good adaptation. I was right; the movie is an excellent adaptation, perhaps as good as the adaptation of High Fidelity. If I didn't like Hornby's novels so much, I might suggest that he go into the book adaptation business full-time.

The book, like the movie, is the story of Cheryl Strayed's journey hiking the Pacific Crest Trail from California to Oregon. She goes on the hike a few years after the death of her mother, and a little while after the disintegration of her family, her marriage, and herself. I had a couple thoughts about movie (and book):

First, men are portrayed as being alternately creepy and wonderful, a combination which strikes me as largely true. There's a lot of the "hey, baby, let's have a drink," and "darlin', gimme a smile" vibe coming from some of the men that Strayed encounters, a vibe that is counterbalanced by the earnest brotherly camaraderie of the other half of the men she meets. I have never traveled alone for longer than a few days, but every interaction she has with the men she meets along the trail, both good and bad, struck me as accurate to life. This shouldn't be so remarkable, except I can't remember ever having this reaction to a movie before. There's usually a good vs. evil view of men in movies; they're either sinners or heroes. This was a much more ambivalent view.

Second, I left the movie with the same lingering thought as I did when I finished the book, which is: it is difficult to write a Goes Through Hard Times genre of memoir without seeming like a big whiner. Strayed loses a great deal in the movie, but some of the worst losses are of her own doing. The only thing that saves the book (and perhaps to a lesser extent the movie) is that Strayed is self-aware enough to know when she's acting like a giant asshole. (By contrast, Eat Pray Love sucked because the author had no idea what a tool she was.) I have sympathy for Strayed, but it's hard not to see a lot of Wild as a exercise in stupidity and self-destruction rather than self-discovery and perseverance. Overall, Wild encourages a dangerous amount of feeling, and suggests that it's ok for us to act on our feelings no matter the consequences. I don't think that's a good message. But then again, a movie about a reasonable and grounded woman wouldn't be half as interesting.

The soundtrack to the movie is top-notch, though. It had been a long time since I heard El Condor Pasa (If I Could) by Simon and Garfunkel. An excellent choice.

Is it too late for a comeback?

I'm considering a return to blogging. There's no time-limit for this sort of thing, is there? If so, please advise.

I mean, I only took 2.5 years off, which turns out to have been just enough time to give birth to my first child: the dissertation. Intellectual maternity leave is over; blogging shall resume.

liberty and its discontents.

Unsurprisingly, I have jury duty the same week that Tocqueville's chapter on the importance of juries is assigned reading for the class I'm TAing. Simply providential, if I do say so myself.

I can confirm that, as with nearly everything else, Tocqueville is right: juries are both incredibly inefficient (I spent all day at the courthouse but have yet to know if I've been selected for anything) and also an excellent way to remind citizens that they are connected to one another (I made friends with the guy sitting next to me, and it turns out he went to graduate school with my sister).

Tomorrow I have to spend a second day at the courthouse, to see if the powers-that-be are actually going to put me on a jury. In light of this, I've come to the conclusion that the extreme inefficiency of this process might outweigh the somewhat heartwarming face-to-face interactions I had with my fellow citizens. Sadly, I think almost everyone else in the courtroom had already reached this conclusion. Tocqueville would not be pleased. And as one of my students asked me the other day, "what's so great about liberty, anyway, if we're so willing to give it up?"