I am now so overwhelmed with things I have to do, things I’ve agreed to do, and things I’d rather like to do except that the prospect of actually doing them is terrifying, that I have become frozen into a kind of mental gridlock.
Let’s see.
My friendly editor at BBC Focus has called me to say that it’s time I wrote my regular column. I really enjoy doing this. Sometimes I come up with an idea, sometimes he does, but it’s usually a collaborative effort such that my sesquipedalonious circuitomnambulations are trimmed to sentences as crisp as an iceberg lettuce straight from the fridge. He’d like my column by first thing Tuesday, which would be fine, except …
… that I’m taking part in a panel discussion on Monday evening, which will necessitate staying over in London, which I always enjoy. The discussion is all about the relationship between science and science fiction, with a heavy emphasis on film. And while on the subject of SF and fantasy …
… I am getting rather behindhand with the collection of material for Mallorn, the Journal of the Tolkien Society, which I edit. The magazine only comes out twice a year, and the next deadline is Christmas, but I have looked at my calendar and it’s already the first week of November. Christmas also happens to be …
… the deadline I have set myself for completing the first draft for a proposal for a non-fiction book. Read that again, slowly – it’s the first draft of a proposal. If I ever get to write the actual book…
… I’d have to prioritize more effectively requests I’ve had to write material for a Tolkien website, or to go and give seminars in various countries, or to get my head round next year’s prospects for conferences I might attend, at home and abroad.
What about that thing I’d like to do that’s so terrifying? Well, I have decided to apply for a job for which I am thoroughly unsuited and which is way out of my league. The funny thing is, people whose opinions I trust think it’s a great idea and are encouraging me to apply. This worries me, for it suggests a number of possibilities, none of them very appealing.
The first is that I am in the habit of underselling myself and my own abilities to such an extent that I can’t see them when clearly other people can. But is this true? After all, my work colleagues seem to have a fair measure of the limits of my capabilities.
Or do they?
When I mentioned that I might apply for this particular job the response wasn’t laughter, but stunned silence, which could mean either max respec’ – or, more likely, incredulity at the extent of my own self-delusion. Whateva. If I go ahead and apply, I am likely to be putting a great deal of hard work into an application that won’t stand a chance of success, which would be embarrassing, and also a waste of time. If I don’t apply – well, that would also be embarrassing, and an admission – to me, at any rate – that at 47 I have passed my peak and it’s too late to try out new and ambitious projects.
Taking all this together, my only solution is to ignore all of it and write a reflective, self-indulgent blog post, rather like this one, in fact, as a way of getting it off my chest, before collapsing on the sofa with the dog, and thinking about nothing more alarming than going to bed.
Nighty night.
Perhaps you should let the application decide whether you're up for (want) the job. Try preparing the application under the "contented" conditions you imagine the position will impart. If the subsequent application lands you the job, all the better, as the work that is expected of you will be the work you produce when you're happy and free of stress and doubt. If the application fails to land you the job, then it's not the job you imagined it to be.
Remember, Bora got a job when he application was a blog post. So you could save yourself a lot of time by sending this URL in as your application.
Henry, if you want it, apply. Nothing ventured, etc. Don't forget that sometimes a stunned silence means that people are thinking about themselves and wondering what your landing the job might mean for them. It's usually the "something stuck in my teeth" look that signals "I think the chickens have a better chance of landing the job".Last summer I spent some time in archives at Berkeley rummaging through the Calvin papers, and one thing that sticks in my mind is the "looking for a replacement for Calvin" file. A long list of big names in it, with reasons why this guy or that wouldn't do or wouldn't take the job anyway. Every one of those men was a BFD scientist, and although there was some difference because they hadn't actually applied for the job (not formally, anyway), I suspect that if any of the unsuitables had, it wouldn't likely have been an embarrassment. He still would've been a BFD scientist, just one who was naive about what that particular job required, or somewhat deluded about his own skills as an administrator (not as a scientist). And this is not rare in people who are exceptionally good at something. If they don't want you for the job, I'm sure they'll let you know, but I doubt it'll have any bearing on how they regard you.
As Bob says, Henry…..
It's better to regret doing something, than to regret not doing it. Good luck – but what is it that you're going for? Scientific advisor to the government? MP? Mayor?
Thanks, All. I shall apply. I shouldn't really say what the job is except that it is outside journalism but within academia.
… having said that, I've now put out enough feelers and read enough documentation to convince myself that the job is way beyond my capabilities – and pays little more than I get now for doing a job I love and at which I'm tolerably -presapient- -profligate- good enough not to get fired.