I am not sure what it says about me—or my academic career—that the announcement of my imminent departure from the academy garnished more attention, accolades, and heartfelt support than anything I ever wrote or published in the course of my academic career.
Except that maybe this is indeed a good decision.
What follows are a few responses and points of clarification (to comments both here, and those in response to the post on Inside Higher Ed).
- I have loved being an academic. I love teaching and research and writing and even advising and curriculum review and syllabus-writing. But I have been on the job market for three consecutive years (two of those as a full-fledged Ph.D.), and with every passing year the opportunities for advancement or landing that first tenure-track job have become fewer and farther between. My current position is renewable, but doesn’t offer me any possibility of tenure, or teaching anything other than composition. To be quite blunt, I didn’t get a Ph.D. in English literature to spend twelve hours a week defining an adverb for students who barely graduated from high school. I can’t think of many professions where acquiring more experience actually makes one a less attractive candidate, but this appears (in my experience) to be one. I would love to have a career as a professor of English literature. I am leaving because I am convinced that such a career is no longer a possibility for me, and that I currently find myself at a dead-end. In leaving—and in posting this piece—I do not mean to disparage any other academic’s decision to stay, or question the ability of many to be happy within the academy. In some of the responses to my “manifesto” on Inside Higher Ed, it seems I have angered or irritated some who are quite happy and fulfilled in their academic jobs. Especially for those who have been in the academy for thirty or forty years, I wholeheartedly believe you—yours is the job I wanted! You were my professors when I was an undergrad deciding to go to graduate school, and as a graduate student your model and the trajectory of your career was one I followed and to which I aspired in many ways. If I had your job—or believed that I would one day have one like it–I probably wouldn’t be leaving.
- The admonition to “be the change you wish to see in [higher education]” is honorable and wise. But as a temporary full-time employee with barely a toe-hold in the power structure of the academy, I have very little power to effect change. This last semester I fully expect that knowing it to be my last will have a–shall we say, liberating?–effect on my pedagogy. And—as the response to my blog post seems to prove—leaving the academy may be the most profound change I can make to it. Maybe I can be part of the diaspora that marks an important period of transition for the humanities, academia, and graduate study.
- My “manifesto” is sad and angry, in part because this was not an easy decision to make. I wrote it shortly after making my decision, because I knew that I would need something to refer to when I wonder (as I already have and am sure I will again and again in the weeks and months…years? to come) whether it is the right choice. I wrote it for myself. I shared it because I was encouraged to do so, and because I hoped that it might be useful to others in similar situations. It is sad and angry because I have been both of those things in the course of coming to this decision, and I think I have some good reasons to be.
- In spite of my sadness and anger, I am well-aware that I am not a victim, and that I speak from a position of extreme privilege. Not only have an enjoyed the benefits of a truly extensive education available to only a tiny percentage of people (and even fewer women) in the world, but I have had the unbelievable luxury of spending years of my life reading. Writing. Thinking. Teaching. Traveling. Having discussions with interesting, intelligent people about fascinating ideas. I had a beer with a Booker Prize winner. I turned the pages of a first edition of Leaves of Grass. I recited Yeats on top of Knocknarea, and took a nap under an apple tree in Virginia Woolf’s backyard. I did work of which I am very proud. I had some fantastic students. I had colleagues and mentors I adored. Although it may take some time and training and hard work and more good fortune, I believe the richness of these experiences will only help me in whatever comes next.
- My position is doubly privileged by my freedom to make this decision without having to consider the needs of a partner or any dependents (other than my dog, who will more-or-less happily follow me anywhere there are treats and belly-rubs). I have medical bills and student loans payments as many do, but I know that not having to provide for the needs of anyone other than myself makes this decision much easier, and not everyone can make his or her departure so freely.
- I suspect that some version of the old adage “you can take the [academic] out of the [academy], but you can’t take the [academy] out of the [academic]” applies here as well. The life of the mind exists in many forms and under many auspices, and I get to take my ideas with me wherever I go. As far as I can tell, I get to keep the academic credentials I earned, and I don’t have to check my research at the door when I leave. I am well aware that other sectors of the workforce hold more than their fair share of unhappiness, dissatisfaction, and dysfunction as well. I don’t doubt that I will encounter those things elsewhere. I only know now that encountering them here, in this particular combination and manifestation, has made my current position untenable.
Thank you—for your comments, your thoughts, your good wishes, your support, your honesty, your own writing on similar subjects, your willingness to share your own perspectives and experiences, and the host of valuable resources towards which you have pointed me.
I will continue to blog here, although the dramatic statements of professional sea-change will probably be few and far between. I hope that if you are so inclined you will continue to read (and comment) as I teach my last semester of classes, take my first steps outside of the hallowed halls of ivy, and see what I find there.
