One year since the pandemic took hold. Almost eleven years since we moved to Canada. I conclude again that time flies whether you're having fun or not. I was reminded of the passage of time recently when a colleague at work emailed me to ask for a meeting. This is a woman who practiced medicine in her home country and then came to Canada to do a Ph.D., which she completed a few months ago. Huzzah, we all said. We'll celebrate you together--someday.
She wanted to meet by zoom, of course. A paper had been rejected, a grant proposal denied. The typical slings and arrows of academic life. She asked me along with the distinguished, accomplished head of our research lab to join her in thinking about what to do next. How, she wanted to know, do I succeed?
Of course I agreed to meet. But at the same time I thought: me? Why ask me about academic success? My route has been unorthodox, indirect, and above all, not above all. I have not risen, per se. I do not have tenure. I am not a professor. People don't fly me around the world to address their conferences or convocations. Nor do I want them to. I like what I do and how I do it and who I do it with. I have been lucky to have congenial work situations in academia, engaging colleagues and interesting research projects across four universities: Durham, Newcastle, Sussex, and now Toronto--the latter three secured from the relatively precarious position of 'trailing spouse'. It's a little miracle, I suppose. I like the work-life balance I have achieved, possibly tipped a bit more toward life than toward work, but my career has always been essential to me. I am an anthropologist. Still, I have never considered myself an exemplar of professional success. I am a good-enough anthropologist, just as I am a good-enough mother and a good-enough wife.
So this meeting gave me pause for thought (good-enough thoughts).
The advice we counseled, the distinguished researcher and I, amounted to patience and temperance. Don't judge yourself so harshly, we said. Remember the papers published, the grants gained, the positions offered. List them, I said, in writing. This recent Ph.D. has accomplished much of which she can be proud. "And," said Distinguished Head, "Now that you have finished the degree, you can find time for some other activities in your life." As soon as I submitted my own Ph.D., I recall, I got engaged. I might be a good advisor on finding other activities.
What also struck me about our gathering was its very Canadian, or perhaps Torontonian, character: a Muslim, a Christian, and a Jew joined on a screen, all women, immigrants who came to Canada from three different continents. Now here we were, discussing tips for life, success, and happiness in Toronto. L'chaim.
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| My career in a bookcase. |
