Sometimes I feel as if my career is trapped in a bubble of time. While all the scientists around me flow purposely along the classical linear progression from neophyte to tenured lab head, I float in a recursive pattern somewhat above and removed from the brisk conveyor belt sliding past below, bobbling against the ceiling like a helium balloon whose string has slipped through someone’s idealistic fingers. And this time-bubble plays tricks: when I look into the faces around me, I can see myself in every one. I am the pale-faced PhD student the morning after an all-nighter; I am the new post-doc flush with her first publishable results and the boss’s admiration, and the seasoned one with many more results, not quite as celebrated. There I am, too, defected to industry and running a team of my own. I am the last researcher standing at a start-up company that takes a full year to finally die; seven leaving parties in three weeks and no one left for my own. I am on the dole in a strange land, not knowing when my professional life will restart. I am the senior fellow doing the rounds of job interviews, short-listed but never quite chosen. I am the science journalist, the editor, the journal manager. And I am also the mature post-doc, older than the lab head who hired her, coming back to square one amongst colleagues young enough to be her own offspring.<\/p>\n
\nBut the bubble of time is out of time, so I can also recognize myself in stages I have not yet and may never reach. So there I am setting up an academic lab of my own, drinking champagne at the success of my first program grant application, chairing my first session at a major symposium, speaking at my inaugural professorial lecture. At the same time, I am also washed out of research, returned to publishing. And I am cast away from science-related fields altogether, doing something terribly clever and fulfilling and never looking back. And I am cast away from science-related fields altogether, doing something terribly clever and fulfilling but suffering from terrible longing and regret at what might have been.<\/p>\n
\nIt’s the occupational hazard of a novelist, seeing all possible outcomes simultaneously. And recently, circumstances have imbued my career path with a particular stark clarity. This month marks a milestone; in precisely two years my career re-entry fellowship will come to an end. Thus far since returning to science, I have published two review articles and will submit a second-author paper in the next few days. In addition, I am a minor co-author on another. In the next few months I’ll be writing up my screen paper as a first author \u2013 it will get into a solid journal, but nothing splashy. I envision another first-author paper from my timelapse screen and possibly one or two more from following up interesting hits that have emerged from this gene discovery program. Trapped in my own time, now, there is no telling whether those later works will end up as top-tier publications. And I suspect that this factor is what will most dictate my success or failure in remaining in academia \u2013 which most days I am fairly sure is the most favourable outcome for my talents and temperament. I can work as hard as I like, but if the biology turns out to be uninteresting, there is nothing I can do about it.<\/p>\n
\nI am trying not to let the future frighten me. I have a large number of authorships in my CV even though my path has been indirect. But if a research career doesn’t pan out, I have a good history of employment, a great deal of outside experience, and I do not doubt that I will be able to find work. But there is still a sort of terror in the unknown, even if you don’t believe you will come to harm. I cannot sustain terror for long, but it dogs me now like a shadow, flickering into life whenever the weather changes.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Sometimes I feel as if my career is trapped in a bubble of time. While all the scientists around me flow purposely along the classical linear progression from neophyte to tenured lab head, I float in a recursive pattern somewhat … Continue reading