A New Thing?

You might remember this post from last year, in which I lamented my yearly cycle into sadness about my career. So, I'm feeling kind of sad again. While other people, I presume, are thinking of the interviews they will have, or the ones they had at MLA, of what they will do next year, I am reminded that I am only hoping for a future. I had a substantive conversation with someone today about what it means to be in academia--not just the paltry number of positions available, but also the frustrations of teaching and research. I came to a new realization of how I might be able to think of the skills I've spent umpteen years building. There actually might be other things I can do with myself. There might be jobs that I can't even name or don't even know about. There might be positions that, even now, I could apply for that I automatically assume that I can't do because I'm such a peon. It didn't help that I walked in the door at home and The Hubby bombarded me with two unexpected opportunities he has to move higher on his ladder; I felt a little deflated because I'm pitifully grappling with my imaginary chances to make a career move and here he is with concrete avenues to pursue.

But here's the thing: It's scary. I really like most of the parts of my job. I love running my own little corner of the world called my classroom. I love (about 75% of the time) the relationships with my students. I love, love, love the freedom of the summers and the flexibility to switch things up on a daily, weekly, semesterly basis. I love having the chance to talk about ideas that totally rock my world. I would like to be paid more and I'd like some sense that I don't have to beg for crumbs.

So, if I step into some other world, will I have to actually work 9-5? That seems nightmarish. Will I sit in an office all day? Also nightmarish. Will I have to work with a bunch of adults who get on my nerves? Will I even be able to do it? Will I want to, or will I be bored? Will I miss too much time with my children and run screaming back to the academy (where I will probably be thoroughly ignored)?

I'm a rules following kind of girl, so the whole idea that I can just up and do something else is nuts! But what if I could actually pull it off . . . .

Tuesday Tidbits

• Maybe I change my mind about being on "The View". I just thought about what I'd look like when I hear nerve-grating assertions that kill my brain cells. As my students keep telling me, my face immediately tells whatever I'm thinking when people talk to me. Can you imagine? Of course, "The View" can still call me for a guest spot.
• I just saw a teaser for "Jeopardy" that set up the game as a sports event. What if we really did have that much fanfare for an intellectual exercise?
• In the continuing saga of television in our house, we recently watched the episode of "Little House on the Prairie" when Charles loses a bunch of money because something happens with the bank. They had planned to pay off a charge account at the Olsen's store, wanting both to release themselves from debt and to give the finger to Harriet Olsen and her self-righteous elitism. When Nellie mimics her mother's stinky attitude (saying that Charles stinks from working with the horses) Laura repeats her father: "Hard-working people only smell bad to people who have nothing else to do but stick their noses in the air."
• Know what else I love, love, love? After Laura repeats her father's sentiment, she says, "And Nellie Olsen, every time you stick your nose in the air around me, it's gonna get punched!" That girl has spunk!
• And one more thing: where is this appreciation for the dignity of work--all kinds of work--now? I hear words like "work ethic" being thrown around a lot, but it too often sounds like Harriet Olsen is saying them.
• Okay, one more: I'm watching the episode when Laura and Mary first go to school (don't look at the time stamp--the children are in school, so I'm . . . previewing it for them) and Nellie snidely calls them "country girls" aloud in class. Ms. Beadle gives her a sharp look but doesn't say anything. I had a flashback of when a boy told me, loudly and in front of everyone, to "go back to Africa"; the teacher in that class also didn't do much more than give him a look.
• The Baby Boy told his father a secret last night that he didn't want to share with me. I was so pleased that I was able to get him to tell me, too, although it took about 20 minutes of gentle prodding about how secrets are not good and he could always tell mommy anything and I wanted to know all about what he's thinking. He started and stopped several times, then finally whispered in my ear that all of the children thought the teacher's new hairstyle was really, really pretty; he thought so, too. I felt all fuzzy that he trusted me with his secret crush on his teacher.

It Happens Every Year

It seems to come in cycles. First, I realize that job postings will soon be released. So I search them. Then realize that people are interviewing. I hope for one. Then I realize that other people are planning for the next year. I wonder if I should, too. It all feels so uncertain.

It's easy to get caught up in the joy of teaching and planning and pretend that I'm fixed in the office I love, working with the students who challenge me, thinking of the possibilities for the future. But the truth is that it's all very temporary. I'm temporary.

So, now I'm reading So What Are You Going to Do With That? Again. I'd love to just to keep doing what I'm doing, where I'm doing it. But with some stability and, you know, some remote possibility of tenure. Ever.

And I guess I'm going to add "Have an unexpected, exciting career" to my life list. I hear the circus is coming to town. Maybe that will be the ticket . . . .

Random Bits of Holiday Goodness

Just as I'm hearing the bars slam shut on the grading jail that locks me in every semester, I'm feeling pretty good about a couple of things. That's impressive, I think, because I've been on Googling binges for a while, looking up people I used to know to see just how much more fabulous their lives and careers are than mine. Then I think about how suck I am. And how those people would think I was suck, too. And then I think about what my children will tell their therapists about me (because that's the logical next thought--right?) It's a horrible game. Worse than golf.

But I've had a few moments that interrupt the pity parties:

The Babydoll wanted to bring her lunch to school, so I packed one up for her (it was a Lunchable, but it counts!) I added an orange, but she called me at work the next morning to say that she had changed her mind about the orange because she wouldn't be able to peel it at school. BUT, she has an awesome mother, so her orange was already sliced and peeled and in a cute little container in the lunch box. She was thrilled!

I received promising news on a publication project that I've wanted to materialize for about 1000 years. I'm really hoping that it goes somewhere, but either way, this is the most interest anyone has shown in the project in all this time.

My students were completing evaluations sheets and asked if they really had to write down their answers because they didn't have a single critical thing to say. More than one said that this class changed their perspectives about writing and about themselves as writers. In addition, for the first time--ever, I think--most of the students followed documentation guidelines and didn't give me crazy, made-up crap that drives me nuts.

I made two desserts for two holiday parties and received raves on both!

Things are looking up!

I Need a Wife

I am exhausted. And I don't have the time or energy to do it all. I have an extremely time-consuming project going on at work in addition to my three different class preps; midterm grades are due tomorrow and I haven't finished grading the midterm exams; I have a paper presentation in November for a paper I have yet to even begin researching; there is a pile of clothes on my bathroom floor that is screaming to be washed; additionally, there is a pile of clothes on my den floor screaming to be put up; there is paper strewn about my office; my fingernails bend and break when I pick up the tiniest thing (which wouldn't matter so much at this point except it hurts like heck); my daughter will not allow me to make a move without her right there, on my heels or in my arms; I need to select and purchase a new cell phone since my child broke mine; there are prescriptions I need to find time to call in and pick up; and I have to force myself not to scream out loud at least once a day.

Is this what being an adult woman is all about? Y'all can have it. I'm going back to my teen years. As soon as I find time to build a time machine. . . .

Bleh

Again, an essay that I thought was really solid and smart was declined for publication (read: rejected). I was really proud of this one and liked the project a lot. I thought it was perfect for me. I'm sad. :(

Lit Happens

So, The Diva and I are kicking it together at a gigantic grading marathon. It's PhDs gone wild over here! We're pooped and it's not even over yet. Clearly, I am a complete idiot. I just completed a grading marathon on my own campus before starting this one. Still, it's always cool to hang out with a girlfriend. We saw Sex and the City 2 while we had a free second. The Diva thought it "so-so" but I really liked it. I cried when Charlotte and Miranda were talking (and sipping) about motherhood. It was a really beautiful and honest moment that only real friends and mothers could share. I'm also glad that they acknowledged their privilege in employing help--that's especially true when neither of them is compelled to work for money.
Other realizations during the gigantic grading marathon:

• There are many, many, many ways to express the EXACT same idea.
• Premium ice cream heals all wounds.
• I need time away from my family sometimes, but it only takes a second for me to really miss them.
• Wuthering Heights is not the go-to text after you've just read about 4 million very questionably written student essays.
• Sitting around with your girlfriend, doing basically nothing, is lots of fun when you are (practically) middle-aged.
• You might want to mentally devise an escape plan for when your cab driver takes some unknown residential route and you think he may be taking you to his own house where he will abduct and disembowel you. Just in case. It helps to crazy paranoid and have a friend join in.
• People who teach English and English-related fields come in two camps: neat, buttoned-up, bookish types or bohemian, artsy, colorful rebel types. It's generally immediately clear which camp someone belongs in. Except for The Diva and me--we're a little of both. :)

Thankful Thursday

Given the state of things in the world (my own little world and the world at large), I've decided to start posting a "Thankful" message each week. Too often lately, I've felt the need to keep myself from spinning downward. I would love to hear what you are thankful for, too, big and small. So here goes:

Today I am thankful for the promise of a quiet day to do work that is meaningful to me. And I'm delighted that part of that includes watching a video on blaxploitation films that make me want to put on a bright tangerine minidress and dance to the theme song from Shaft. Yay for today!

You're Gonna Miss This (Think Trace Adkins)

I go back to work tomorrow. I am so glad I have a job and I like my work, but I hate for this time to end.

I don't think that I ever mentioned that we brought Popcorn home (she came home in June), but all summer I've been a stay-at-home mom. It's been wonderful!

At first, despite what the nurses said in the NICU, she did not eat and fall asleep immediately. When we would wake up in the middle of the night, she stayed awake for the rest of the night. Either me or Diva's Husband would be fighting sleep while rocking the baby who would be just looking at us with eyes wide open. So, having the chance to stay home all day was beneficial. Now, she is sleeping through the night (yea!), but I just like being home with her. We play and read and sing and sleep and just be cuddly together.

Tomorrow I have to take her to the babysitter. Initially I was extremely sad about the idea that being with the babysitter would be the first time since she came home that she would be without either me or her father, but then I remembered that there have been a few times when her grandmothers came to visit that I ran to the store while DH was at work. That made me feel better. But only a little.

Before I had her, I always thought I would welcome the opportunity to go away and have time and space to myself. Now, although the prospect of getting back to the world of academics and intellectual pursuit is mildly exciting, that opportunity is not looking quite as appealing.

My mom and aunt say I will get over this feeling by the second day. I'm doubtful.

Worth

There was an article in Inside Higher Ed about how women, especially in academics, settle far too frequently for less money and perks than they really have coming to them. They don't negotiate and jump at whatever crumbs are offered. I was wondering if I did that today. Of course, the position doesn't have any wiggle room, so perhaps I didn't settle. But if I were offered the next level in rank (is this ever going to actually happen????) I'm not sure I even know what I would ask for. More money? Breaks for research? And if they said no, I'm sure I would just slink away.

All this leads me think about what I'm worth. Since I finished my doctorate, I keep complaining that I don't get paid what I'm worth. I remind my husband as frequently as possible that I have more education than he does. But the reality is that my job searches are severely limited because even if I'm offered my dream job, I could never command a salary that would make it worth moving. His salary is easily double--okay, triple--what I made at my last job. (Just typing that sentence makes me want to cry). Obviously, piling more and more education on your resume doesn't exactly translate into dollars.

I'm not writing this to complain . . . much, but I'm finding it really difficult to wrap my mind around how I should be defining "worth." If I had stopped at the BA and worked throughout my twenties, I would have paid off a big chunk of my undergraduate loans and still be making more money than I do now. But I really do love the wiggle room in my schedule, and working with students (whose parents I'm not even allowed to talk to), the ability to do research on topics I'm truly excited about, and summers that I can use in whatever ways I see fit.

In my upcoming position, I'm thrilled at the salary, which is higher than my very low expectations. But what does it mean that my expectations are so low? When I told my husband the salary offer, he asked if they got confused and thought that I was starting in one of the science departments. Ha, ha. It's an interesting phenomenon.

I'm Feeling Good

So, here are the details of the my new job.

I'll be at a nearby college to which I have close ties. I am so fortunate because I've been allowed to choose courses and class times. Essentially, I'll be able to do almost exactly what I was doing before, with a similar schedule and classes that I think I have a good grip on. And I know and hear only good things (well, almost only good things) about these students. I'm so excited. I think this will be good for me and that I'll enjoy it. The summer has a whole new vibe now. I'm going to crochet and read and plan for these classes and run around with my children.

I feel really blessed. What a turnaround, huh? I wanted to be like Paul--content in whatever state I'm in, whether in plenty or in want. Clearly, I didn't do so well with that, but God is patient with me. And merciful (Somehow my husband and I miscommunicated last weekend at a busy state park food court and left my son sleeping in the stroller while I took my daughter to the bathroom and he went to the bathroom himself. We both thought the other was staying with the stroller and turned our backs. We left him. Alone. It's so scary and dangerous I can't even think about it. Too awful. I'm about to cry. Back to feeling good).

Another dismissed colleague secured a wonderfully perfect-for-him position doing exactly what he wanted and being paid much more than before. And friends of ours just bought a house in a great part of the city.

And spring has finally sprung around here. This time of year, the South is exactly where I want to be. It's so beautiful outside and the air is warm without the oppressive heat that I know is coming.

Happy, happy, joy, joy.

And in other news . . . .

Just as I was spiraling downward in my mind today, I got a job offer! It's a one-year contract, but I'm just going to go ahead and be happy. More later! Yay!

Lost

This weekend I took a class that has lead me to think about a new career path. People keep asking me what work I would do for free; professorship was it. So, I've been feeling quite pessamistic and just plain sad about the very real possibility that I have so little control over my work life. Training myself and practicing another skill will, perhaps, give me some sense of that.

I heard Laura Schlessinger again this morning talking about her new book about stay-at-home moms, which I find to be so off the mark. First, most of the sahm I know have at least one degree, so railing against the stereotype that they are stupid seems weird to me. Second, I like(d) my work. It was meaningful and was a significant part of my individual identity. I'm sure many women don't need that, but I do. Now that I'm at home with my son, the sudden change is not easy or entirely welcome. We're having a good time, but it's not what I planned.

One of the reasons that I so enjoyed my job (even though it wasn't tenure-track or ideal in other ways) was that the schedule was so flexible. I could go on a field trip or a doctor's appointment whenever I needed to. Most semesters, I had two days a week that I could keep my children at home or pick them up early for an afternoon of hanging out. I had time to read. And in the summers, I was practically a sahm anyway, if I chose to be. I had the best of both worlds. I'm mourning the possible/probably loss of that. That brings me to this article from Inside Higher Ed that is calling my name. It succinctly expresses just what I feel about being pushed out of academia. Even if one of the opportunities I'm waiting to hear from works out, I still feel shocked into the reality that this whole thing isn't exactly what I had in mind. I think that now I'll always feel that academia is a bad marriage, with the divorce papers drawn up and hidden in the drawer, especially since even tenured professors were kicked to the curb in this case; "Never forget" I'll hear the administration saying, "You are expendable!" And yet, can I do anything else? Do I want to?

What Schlessinger doesn't seem to care about is the fact that working wasn't just about money--although for lots of women it's about exactly that--or about societal expectations--although somewhere in this conversation someone should point out the need for workspaces that support working parents instead of making their lives so much more difficult. For me, working was about making my own individual contributions and identity. Where do I put those needs if stay-at-home motherhood is 100% of my life?

Nobody Likes Me, Everybody Hates Me, Guess I'll Go Eat Worms

I was going to write a post today about the push-pull of motherhood and work and staying at home with children and the external intrusions that try to define women. Instead, here's what I'm writing:

So, I'm watching "The Real Housewives of New York" and here's another person who is going on and on about a career that is fabulous and enriching (both for soul and for purse) for which she was not particularly trained that was a hobby and just blossomed like a big ol' freaking flower and now has her all on TV with a book and I'm sitting here with squat.

Where's my stuff? Man, I suck.





*P.S. And here's what else I'm wondering: If you could (or had to) enter a totally different field, what would it be?

What Color Is My Parachute? Seriously. What Color?

Before I secured my now defunct teaching position at Unnamed University, I was so desperate to figure out what to do with myself that I actually got What Color is Your Parachute and a couple of other career guides. I made charts and lists and drew pictures. I even looked for places to take the Myers-Briggs test that reveals your personality type. For the most part, the conclusion was what I knew all along--my perfect, dream job would be to be a co-host on "The View," especially if you throw some books into the mix.

Since the likelihood of that happening is slim, (at least until Barbara Walters gets a clue and ditches that ditzy Elisabeth--what is the deal?? They just ignore her like she's not even talking most of the time. I would be sooo much more interesting and fabulous as the resident thirty-something. I'd replace Star's "I'm a lawyer" with "I'm a Ph.D." But then, I can't keep popping out babies left and right like Elisabeth, so maybe that's why they won't hire me) I've been thinking about what else I could do with myself. Since the fourth grade, when I missed recess to help a girl with her long division, I haven't imagined myself doing anything except teaching students.

I've read that the average person has several career changes during her professional life. How does that happen? When I read articles on this topic in The Chronicle of Higher Education, for instance, people suggest being open to alternative possibilities, but then they present some story about how a wonderfully fulfilling position fell into their laps out of nowhere. How do I make that happen? How do I get to read, talk about books, and get paid for it? How can I have a flexible schedule without (apparently) being expendable? How can avoid putting my degrees on a shelf if I don't work in higher education? And--dare to dream--how can I find a job that will get a professional to do my hair, make-up, and outfit?

Clearly, graduate schools don't even try to prepare students for careers outside of academia, even though most of us won't ever grasp the brass ring of tenure. So, since I'm on this side of the degree and still on the wrong side of a tenure-track position, I feel like I'm flailing. I would gladly consider some other kind of career if I were qualified for any of them or if they didn't make me want to beat myself in the head. I don't even know what I want to do, much less what I can do. I never thought that more than ten years after my B.A. I would be trying to figure out what I want to do when I grow up. I guess I'll just sit here with a ready lap, waiting for something to fall.

* Totally off topic, The Diva, the Today show just played your theme song, "You Wear It Well"!

In Medias Res

And you know what else? They think they can just do whatever they feel like to us. Like we don't matter and should just take scraps and crawl away saying, "Thank you sir, may I have another?" Like I haven't worked my rear end off earning degrees that make me qualified and then folks just want to throw me away. You now what? Kiss my grits!--

Oh, wait. You don't live in my head, huh? Let me explain my stream of consciousness type vomit of thoughts. I've just had this epiphany that faculty are the peons of the university setting.
As much as I'm trying to forget about how messy and just wrong my job loss is on a number of levels, my impulse is just to let it go (along with some money that is probably still owed me) and move on. In fact, I received two pieces of promising news lately, so perhaps I'll have somewhere to move to, at least in the short term. But when I think about the way that faculty are often cut out of the shared governance that is supposed to happen in higher education, it reminds me that continuing to work in academia anywhere means that I have to accept a certain lack of control over my own career. So much happens to faculty, from course load to course distribution to office space. Even when rules are followed--and they were not in my situation--it seems that faculty is at the mercy of students and administration, caught in the middle.

There are millions of other thoughts running through my head about the complexities of higher education, but I had this realization about being a worker bee. It feels like a veil being lifted. When I was a student, I had no idea that there was so much behind the scenes.

Bend Over

Here's a thought: If you don't like people, you shouldn't work in positions that require talking, answering questions, or providing information.

Today I went to the unemployment office. While not the catastrophic abyss of irritation I expected, it was not fun. Most questions about the paperwork were answered with some version of "I don't know because that's not my job." Lovely. It's even sweeter when "I can't help you and I really don't want to" comes from the HR people of the employer who just scraped you off their shoe. They can't seem to figure out why I am asking questions and spiral down into, "Well what do you want? I already told you blah blah blah"; so, just in case you were not sufficiently disrespected and humbled, here's some more aggravation.

And then I went to Wal-mart and some old dude was checking me out! What a life!

*Post Script: Okay, let me give a little context to this post. I've been struggling with my former institution because I can't seem to get straight answers or assurance about how certain money issues will be handled. There is alleged "calculating" going on and people "taking care" of things. But, really. After being treated like an annoying gnat who happened to be doing the work that is the actual purpose of the institution--teaching students--, shouldn't I be doing a little bit of CYA for myself? Not to mention the fact that I was already denied some benefits via a "glitch" that nobody can explain. But the answer to every question is "I don't know. I can't give it to you in writing. You have to direct that to someone else. It's being addressed." And finally, "What else do you want?" The general message seems to be that I should just take whatever people feel like giving me, slink away quietly, and above all, stop talking to people who don't want their human resource type work interrupted by human beings. So, I'm feeling a little disregarded. Okay, tremendously disregarded. Mostly, I keep thinking, "Why are any of you upset? Don't you still have a job, after all?"

Gag me

In my newly unemployed state, I'm realizing how much time laundry and dishes take up. Perhaps this is why I'm still so doggone tired even though I don't have to actually go to work. I am still doing work, mostly publication stuff, but I don't have a conventional job that pays a monthly check and requires talking to other people. I'm fighting the sadness of this loss of identity and usefulness. But as I'm uncontrollably watching the reruns of "The Real Housewives of ------" I'm noticing an annoying theme. On the Orange County version, one of the daughters complains about the "tree people" hanging out near Berkley, where she attends college. Apparently, she's also not interested in eating her lunch near the "bums" on the street. How dare those homeless people taint the loveliness of her dining with their unsavory lack of functional lives! To escape this unbearable experience, her mother provides her with a fully furnished penthouse. And on the New York version, one of the women comments on how "hectic" things are while her housekeeper is away; all the feeding her own children and washing her own clothes is overwhelming it turns out. (Roll your eyes with me, please).

On the Today show this morning, one woman points out that they taped the show before the economy went in the crapper. Nevertheless, is this the reality of people's lives? The obvious answer, I guess, is that this is the reality of these women's lives. But this kind of oblivious self-centeredness is painful, especially when I think of my colleagues who are single and have children or are scarily close to retirement; losing your job without warning is not filled with fabulosity. This is why people don't like rich people! It's not just about your money or the overpriced things you have. It's the attitude of entitlement and myopic selfishness that assumes that you deserve the stuff you have. Don't people who work two or three jobs, who do their own laundry every day, or who--ahem--have earned a Ph.D., also deserve some ease in their lives?

So, the new season begins soon. Perhaps I'll update you later. (Now, roll your eyes at the irony--maybe if I had a job I wouldn't have time to watch!)

Two Offers

My class was reading Frances Ellen Watkins Harper's "Two Offers" the other day and one of my graduate students pointed out that women are still dealing with the story's major dilemma because women are "held hostage by children." I nearly fell off my chair with laughter. After I had righted myself, I muttered, "Yeah, that's kinda true." The story is about two women. One of them is contemplating two marriage offers; the other is taking the path of work and professionalism. Ostensibly, these are the two, and very distinct, options available to women.

Now, of course, I can't complain so much about having those options. I mean, the women in the slave narratives we are reading don't even have the choice of marriage, and the choice of motherhood is pretty much ripped from them, too. And many throughout time have not had the option of work they choose. let alone work that is fulfilling. So, I won't complain, especially in this semester of course reduction and new pedagogical challenges.

Nevertheless, nobody in the class disputed the grad student's comment--not the men and not the women. I had mapped out the points I wanted to make about the story, but I wasn't really prepared for this personal turn in the discussion. Some of the undergraduate students talked about their plans to vigorously pursue work before they sought family life. One even stated that she planned to be a stay-at-home mom. In general, I got the impression that these young women hadn't given a lot of thought about just how could have any of what they want. I don't blame them; young adulthood is built for other things. Things unrelated to the smell wafting right now from my son's diaper or the annoying whining sound that someone in this house makes every 20 minutes. Or even to the 20 pages of research I should be revising--deeply-- instead of writing this blog entry. But the ideological split in the story seemed very much alive to these much-younger women and men. The problem, though, isn't that women can't handle the dual identity of worker and homemaker. Certainly, black women have had to be models of this pardigm for a long, long time. The problem, and the female grad students understood this palpably, is that there is no framework that supports the actual lives of women in these dual roles. I can't help but to wonder if I've been punished a bit for choosing to make, birth, and parent two children in close proximity. I'm almost certain that I lost a possible job offer because I was pregnant. Even with my flexible schedule and ability to do work at home, I'm not a rock star in my field and I don't see that changing any time soon. I've decided that I don't care. But that's not exactly the truth.

There are days when I foolishly Google former classmates and colleagues to see what they are doing. They always seem more fabulous than me. I wonder if I could have been, would have been, just as fabulous if I had spent the last several years being fabulously productive. Just as often, though, I wonder if I would be (nearly) debt free and more beautifully dressed if I had been working for 7 years instead of toiling away in graduate school.

I don't know. I guess we make the choices we make. Then, we just keep pushing. I don't have much time to work all of this out in my head. My daughter's crying and my article isn't going to write itself. When you figure it out, let me know, please. Then, I'll tell F.E.W. Harper; I'm sure she'll want to know.