Only Death And Taxes

Here's the thing about academia- well, life: even if you follow the ideal path, there are no guarantees. You can be on track to be CEO, and (heaven forbid) you could get sick. Or you could get married, or divorced, or go bankrupt, or win the lottery. And so on, with varying degrees of probability.

You can get a PhD at a fancy-schmancy R1, go do the ideal postdoc, publish with the Evil Empire, and still not get a faculty job. You can get a job offer at Dream U, and then have it withdrawn by the provost after you have received a written offer due to budget troubles under Aaaahnold.* You can have a job at FancyPants U, and your department can become weebly in its very existence.** You can have a baby and decide you'd rather bake cookies and go to swim lessons all day.

You never know what's going to happen.

Dr. S spent a year in a temporary postdoc, because I still had work to do on my PhD. "You should move to the Frozen North without your wife!" his colleagues said. "You'll ruin your chances of a fellowship!" his advisor scolded.

We had a kid, and we both worked part-time so the kid could stay home with us longer. "You'll lose out and ruin your chances of publication if you work part-time!" his new advisor said. "You'll never get a fellowship now!" his colleagues predicted.

He just got a fellowship.

There are no guarantees. If we had followed the perfect path, and then not gotten the golden ring, the sacrifices would not have been worth it to us. We did as we damn well pleased, because we are living our lives for now, and we still got what we wanted: a happy marriage, good jobs, and a healthy child. Oh, and a fellowship.

So there. TAKE THAT, WORLD!!!


* True story.
** Also true! And JP has all my sympathies.