Years of Thunder

Americans get kinda schmaltzy and saccharine this time of year (i.e. Thanksgiving). A British person’s “I’m fine, thanks” is equivalent to an American’s “I’m doing fan-TAS-tic!” and I think I came to the USA too late in life to adjust. Still, I want to highlight some of the things I am thankful for, since it’s been a long year.

 

• Home territory

An introvert’s home is their fortress. The primal Safe Space. Of course we go out into the world and socialise, but that’s only because we’re secure in the knowledge that our home (AKA our recharging point) is waiting for us when we need a break. That’s why it’s important I live in my own apartment (no roommates), and it’s a space I enjoy spending time in. Back when I was a coffeeshop hobo I wasted hours in coffeeshops because it was preferable to spending time on that depressing council estate in a run-down apartment I shared with 2 shift workers (Note: you couldn’t have found 3 people with less overlap in their working hours. I was out the door at 5am, the roomie who guarded the nearby construction site didn’t get home until 7am, and by the time I got home at 4pm the third roommate had left for his afternoon/evening work. That was one of my favourite roommate set-up).

I live in a good place, one that stabilises the rest of my life.

 

• Doing work relevant to my PhD

I hoped I’d never regret my Chemistry PhD. You sink 5 years of your life into obtaining that one qualification, often denting your health & wellbeing in the process. During grad school you constantly ask yourself, if the PhD is worth it. Could you have spent those 5 years doing something else and getting to the same place career-wise (if not better)?

That’s one of the reasons I like being a healthcare copywriter. You don’t need a PhD to be one..but it helps. Recruiters and hiring managers see it as beneficial (“you have a strong technical background”), which in a way is even nicer than seeing it as a requirement. I get to live out my fantasies of being a science generalist, taking on new challenges and absorbing whatever interesting snippets of science/medicine I come across.

 

• Books

I come from a book-ish family. The only rooms in the house without full bookshelves are the second bathroom and laundry room. I’m surprised when I see inside other people’s homes and they use bookshelf space for displaying photographs and ornaments. Or — to my great alarm — they put books on the shelves but then place ornaments in front of the books, declaring that the likelihood of them randomly pulling down a book to leaf through is close to nil.

It’s hard to amass books when you’re transient. Where can I put them in shared apartments? Buying books seems reckless when you know you’re going to have to move in the next couple of years, paying a moving company for each kilogram they shift. My Target-value shelves broke in transit, so I piled them on my bedroom floor.

But there is redemption! I’m within walking distance of a library. First time in a long time. I didn’t realise how hungry I was for the written word until I started returning from the library with 5 borrowed books at a time. The more books I borrowed, the more I needed. Books about commercial archeology, Jack the Ripper’s victims, the evolution of Christianity: why wouldn’t I take them home with me? I may be going to bed earlier and earlier, but because I’m getting a few hours reading in, my life feels more rich and expansive.

The Bio-Hustle

It’s been a while. Not that I’ve had nothing I wished to say – it’s that I haven’t found the framing, motif or theme to pack the words into. It’ll come.

In the meantime, here are some snapshots of what I’ve been up to in the last 12 months. Uniting theme? Hustle.

(Northeastern) Big City Nights

I don’t need much of an excuse to visit DC. In November 2018 the American Medical Writers Association hosted their annual conference there. I’d yet to visit the National Museum of African American History & Culture, and I had a couple of hundred dollars in my bank account. How many more signs did I need?

DC. Washington DC.

I like the grand expanse of the US Capital. It’s a bitch to walk round on a sunny day – sunlight beamed back off marble – but there’s space to pause and enjoy the surroundings, which you can’t do in NYC. Every time I visit I’ll peek into the Library of Congress, I love it as a monument to intellectual power.

This time around I lucked out and found a pretentious coffeeshop near my hostel. They served me a double espresso in a volcano-shaped mug, on a slate tile. Although not pictured above, there were extensive quantities of cacti. The espresso was perfect.

This could be the section of my post where I brag about the AMWA conference: how insightful it was, how many late night revelries I crammed in, the glamour of big meetings in endless hotels. Instead I departed DC with the realisation I wasn’t quite a medical writer. I was hitting ~50% success rate interacting with people at the conference: half the people I had decent chats with and enjoyed their company, the rest I had kinda stilted exchanges with and felt I wasn’t connecting. The workshops and talks were all useful, but there were 3 blocks of attendees (writing academic papers, regulatory writing and continuing medical education) and by then I was self-identifying as ‘healthcare marketing’.

The AMWA Southeast chapter.

A disappointing conference isn’t the worst thing life can hit me with. It helped me refine my professional identity: I’m not a medical writer, I’m a healthcare copywriter (that’s totally a thing). There were plenty of good experiences on the trip: I was able to walk into the NMAAHC without a minute of queuing, I spent time with my local AMWA chapter (“local” in this case encompassing Atlanta, Knoxville and chunks of Florida).

 

ChemBros

People don’t come to Atlanta for chemistry. I was surprised to learn that my adoptive city specialises in global health. Atlanta hasn’t been branded with the same strength Boston has as a biotech hub, for example. Global health equates to public health, medicine, epidemiology and the likes…but not chemistry.

So you can imagine my delight when two chemists did visit for the weekend.

Fernando and Peter – selfie afficiandos.

The Future Leaders in Chemistry program sustained me throughout my PhD. It was only two weeks during the summer between my 1st and 2nd year, but when I hit the mid- and late-stage troughs of grad school I remembered that someone had accepted me onto this prestigious program (and no one had questioned my inclusion once I was there). It’s been 5 years now, and I’m not sure I’ve become a ‘Leader in Chemistry.’ But maybe that doesn’t matter.

Anyway, my two FLIC buddies had lunch at Ponce City Market. It’s one of those hipster utopias: ‘industrial’ interiors, expensive shops and artisanal food. I paid $8 for a sandwich smaller than my fist…but was one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth, albeit for all of 5 seconds.

 

While you were partying, I studied THE STICK

 …Well, you probably weren’t partying first thing on a Saturday morning. Nobody does that. As a time for karate & jiu-jitsu classes goes however, it’s pretty effective: with evening classes you have a whole day to accumulate excuses and flakiness. First thing in the morning you’re always fresh. There have been a few occasions when I woke up to the 6.30am alarm I’d earnestly set for myself Friday night…rolled over and went back to sleep. I’m human. Still, I’m more likely to be in attendance than not. It’s an intermediate-plus class, so we go through tricky things like weapons.

With martial arts, it often feels like moving up the ranks just means opening extra avenues of critique. You don’t stop doing technique wrong, instead you access more sophisticated layers of wrongness. It can be frustrating, especially when it seems you’ll never get it right.

However, jiu-jitsu shows proof of my progression. When I first hit blue belt I was thwarted by hip throws. These are (basically) when an opponent’s behind you, and you bump them up and over your back.  Despite drinking many protein shakes, I don’t have the upper body strength to brute-force the throw, I have to apply good technique. And I since I’m a tall woman my practice partners are either women roughly my weight but shorter (which makes body alignment hard because I’ve got to crouch down), or men who are taller than me…but 100 lbs heavier. You can’t hide bad technique: you’ll either do the hip throw or fail. My tolerance for practising the throw was limited – I’d get too frustrated after a series of misses to continue.

Then one class…I performed the throw. THWACK! went my partner. And I realised I was hitting correct the technique more often than I was missing. I still mess up my hip throws, and I’ve now graduated on to its more finicky variants, but it’s proof that eventually things click. There aren’t any showy flashes of insight here, just getting things right. It’s not that I enjoy failing, but I can tolerate it. And to improve at martial arts (and life, I guess) you need to tolerate exposure to your failures.

Party in the dojo – Saturday 9am | Photo courtesy of The Martial Arts Center Atlanta

Lastly, here’s a picture of me and a lizard.

I realise this photograph raises more questions than it answers. But as we say in Okinawan Shuri-Ryu: ‘Karate is my secret.‘

I Don’t Mind – Leaving Ivory Tower Land

In late October 2018 I drove from Atlanta to North Carolina for a job interview, setting my alarm for 5:30am. According to Google Maps, the drive was 6 hrs. I didn’t really have money for a hotel – and I kinda like long-distance driving – so attempting this as a one-day excursion became my plan. I drove there in my interview clothes, switching heels for sneakers. NPR on the radio until I crackled out of WABE service area. Then I started scanning for country music stations.

**

My postdoc hadn’t worked out. The first sign things were going wrong came before my official start date, but it wasn’t until ~2 months in I admitted to myself: I made a mistake coming here, this is a bad fit. When I first got the postdoc offer I played ‘Thunder‘ by Imagine Dragons in celebration.

Just a young gun, with a quick fuse,

I was uptight, wanna let loose…

Before long I was giving heavier airtime to another song with equal levels of defiance in its lyrics, but aiming in a different direction:

They don’t tell me nothing, so I find out all I can,

…But I, I don’t mind. No I, I don’t mind.

Later, I would talk about what went wrong, and wave towards a list of minor mismatches and small disappointments. Maybe I could have endured one or two hits from that list and remained a productive scientist. In the end there was too much incremental unhappiness. My research productivity spiralled downwards.

**

By sun-up it was raining heavily. Down to a two-lane highway, I found myself trailing a lorry, caught in the blinding plumes it threw back onto my windshield. I moved onto the inside lane and started to overtake. The lorry was throwing even more water to its sides: the strength of spray made my car shake uncontrollably. I couldn’t see a thing, the steering wheel was loose in my hands. My instinct was to jerk out of the way of this dangerous onslaught – knowing such a motion would cause me to crash off the road. In the rearview mirror I saw a car pull into the lane behind me – I couldn’t slam on the breaks. Shaking, I forced the accelerator down. The wall of water intensified and my car trembled, but I pushed forwards until I’d cleared the lorry.

**

This job interview wasn’t going to be successful. Maybe my energy projected this as I pulled into a quiet Research Triangle suburb – rain still dripping off the glossy coverage of leaves. I was interviewing at a small, local company. LinkedIn trawling suggested they tended to hire PhDs from nearby universities. Sometimes I worry I’m too much of a brash city-slicker, sometimes that I’m too introverted (both of them can’t be right). There’s never been a professional environment where I felt I fit, just some places where they were OK with my being slightly different. Still, I knew I’d never be considered for the job if I didn’t show up for the damn interview. Maybe they wanted different.

**

I can only be induced to listen to country music under certain circumstances. One of those circumstances is ‘long drives around the American Southeast.’ In the privacy of my own car – out in the middle of nowhere – it feels natural, and I don’t worry about others’ scorn.

‘Wagon Wheel‘ by Darius Rucker came on the air as I flipped through stations and States.

Heading down South to the land of the pines,

Thumbing my way into North Carolina.

I’d heard it on the radio before – though I don’t think I’d be searched for song info afterwards – but today I really listened to the words.

Oh, North country winters keep a-getting me down,
Lost my money playing poker so I had to leave town,
But I ain’t turning back, to live in that old life no more.

**

It isn’t always easy to talk about my postdoc. I knew I had failed. I’d come here straight off a tough PhD: in the lab at 5pm on Sundays, balancing demanding group admin duties and refusing to splinter under the pressure of barely-successful research projects. I didn’t recognise myself in the defeated, miserable postdoc.

Many postdocs feel trapped in their research groups. This can be because they feel under-qualified and unprepared for the “real world” job market; or because they don’t know what they want to do next. This wasn’t something I struggled with. I agreed to leave my postdoc early, knowing I would stare down unemployment, a demoralising job search, and heightened odds of leaving the county. The risks seemed worth it: I just had to amass the strength to push forwards.

I don’t know who the company decided to hire instead of me. Was it a PhD scientist from the Research Triangle? Were they noticeably more extroverted? The interview wasn’t a negative or awkward experience: I just wasn’t wowing anybody or setting the room on fire with mutual chemistry. It wouldn’t have the been the best fit: a geographic compromise between the Deep South and the Eastern Seaboard which wouldn’t have satisfied me on either fronts. Glassdoor reviews didn’t think there was much room for professional advancement, even though they rated the company favourably. I had lunch in a really nice vegetarian/Middle Eastern restaurant down the street, so I can’t call the day a loss.

I got back to Atlanta around midnight: was snarled up in rush-hour traffic near Charlotte NC, had to pause at a South Carolina-Georgia Rest Area for a ~3 minute shuteye. Kept myself awake on the final stretch by counting down exit signs. I couldn’t remember which FM station I’d find WABE on, so settled on late-night jazz until I could turn the engine off for good.

In a couple of months I’d receive a job offer from someone else. “We have to hire her,” my intermediary recruiter was told by a client looking for a very specific hire. This client set out their job specs right before my resume metaphorically landed on their collective desks. The unusual contours of my Resume lined up perfectly to the job description. It ticked enough of my boxes for it to work out happily. But really, my realisation that here was an employer who wanted me was the most powerful facet of the whole experience.

**

And if I die in Raleigh, at least I will die free.

Word Play. Part 3: Word Harder

When I moved from New Jersey to Atlanta in January I taped up all but 2 books in boxes for the moving company. ‘Alexander Hamilton’ by Ron Chernow was placed directly in my car. For the first week or so in Atlanta it lay on the floor next to my sleeping bag – for I had no bed yet – and I’d bump against it in the night.

Why did I value the biography of Hamilton so highly? Why did it serve as my emotional support book in an unfamiliar city?

Hamilton inspired me because of his skill with words. He wrote with fervour. When he needed to hit back against the world – whether against injustice, stupidity or ignorance – he wrote.

I wish I had the intellectual and literary power Hamilton did.

***

It’s been tough-going these past few months. A lot of rejections, dead ends and worry about 2019. It’s not clear if I’ll get to stay in Atlanta…or even in America. I know I’m struggling to balance everything career-related in my life, and I can clearly see all the ways I’ve made life harder for myself recently. But if I want to live 2019 on my own terms…I need to persist. So I figured I may as well summarise some of my achievements from 2018. I could do with the self-encouragement.

First paid ($$$) pieces of science writing

Thanks to a call-out on Twitter I learned that Chemistry World magazine was looking for writers for its Last Retort column (lighthearted, humorous opinion pieces connected to life as a scientist). I’d spent the latter half of 2017 writing science features article for Rutgers Daily Targum, and was surprised that my (unpaid & amateur) contributions to a student newspaper counted as sufficient leverage to get into a print magazine with 50,000 international subscribers. But it did. And I got repeat commissions.

There is an ego boost that comes from seeing others share and quote lines from your articles. Especially since I was trying to be funny and memorable.

Editor role at Emory Postdoc Science Writers Magazine

Emory Postdoc Science Writers is one of those official university organisations that floats in and out of existence. It was very active a couple of years back, but then its leadership got jobs and left. Having already got those science writing clips from Rutgers (seriously, I’m getting a lot of mileage out of my student newspaper work) I was asked to take charge of the Science Writers Magazine. Several years had passed since the last issue, and I was re-starting the enterprise from scratch.

We got 2 magazine issues out the door: one per semester. I got enough people on board (~10 writers and a few editors) to create something you could define as a magazine. The postdocs enjoyed the opportunity to practice their non-academic science writing. I got to learn about some new areas of research.

Communications Pro. Communications Promotion

I joined Women In Bio-Atlanta mid-way through the year and offered to help out on the Communications Committee. More words and writing! Having an identity as a scientist/white collar professional outside my academic ecosystem wasn’t something I really had during my PhD (though I could have searched for one), so it’s nice to be around a mix of scientists and science-adjacent professionals who happen to work in my city.

Supper club

End-of-summer networking

Following the winter leadership rollover I was asked to become Co-Chair of the Communications committee. So I know I’ve been doing something at least partially right.

I helped someone else double their income ($$$ x2)

The Postdoc Science Writers (see above) invited a communications coach to come and give a science writing workshop at Emory, which I helped organise. She was flying in from the Midwest and wanted to extend her stay, so asked us if we had any contacts at the other universities in town who might be interested in hosting her. Well, I had access to an Excel spreadsheet of Atlanta university administrators thanks to my Communications role in Women In Bio (see above). I sent out emails. One of my contacts was interested in hosting a workshop.

People often ask themselves “What am I worth [to this person]?” I’m now able to point to someone and say, “Well, to that person I’m worth several thousand dollars.”

I made *more* money off my writing ($$$)

In addition to my humour/opinion pieces, I started pitching ideas for other articles to online science publications. These were serious science writing venues, where I had to pitch against a crowd. One of my science article ideas was accepted. Then after a couple of editorial revisions it was killed. My pride was wounded, but they paid me a 50% ‘kill fee.’ Another feature article is under editorial revisions right now – I’m not past the Editorial Kill-zone yet, but there’s less to worry about since the topic was a little less ambitious, so less subject to change/disappointment. That one will also be a paid, serious, journalistic piece.

I also launched into healthcare marketing and a couple of freelance writing project there: white papers, press releases, etc. I also drew repeat commissions with my work for legit healthcare companies, which I found hard to believe. One person this year offered me “exposure” as compensation for writing some blog posts for them. Now I’m at the point where people are offering me CASH for my writing…and I’m fine with that.

You need experience to get experience. This year I started getting that experience. In 2019 I should build momentum (and savings).

Four belt promotions in martial arts

I’ve done over 200 hours of karate & jujitsu this year. I’ve gone from a total beginner/white belt to yellow then blue belt in both disciplines. I’m not the fittest, strongest, most coordinated, flexible or skilled martial artist – in fact my natural ability in most of those categories is low. But I’m persisting. And I can see the persistence slowly paying off.

Learning something about balance…maybe | Courtesy of The Martial Arts Center Atlanta

Atlanta and The Diner

On my first ever morning in Atlanta I knotted myself into a ball on a park bench. It was a pitch black winter morning, the bench was cold and wet, and my clothes weren’t wintery enough. I was waiting for the breakfast diner across the street to open.

A sense of belonging comes in many forms. I can point my finger and say: “Women In Bio (well-educated urban professionals operating in the sciences – like myself) are my people.” I can point my finger again and say: “The fellow martial artists at my dojo (whole spectrum of educational & lifestyle backgrounds, but we’re all intensely dedicated to the same thing, and I can make them laugh) are my people.” I can also walk into a diner once per week for a whole year, be nodded to My Seat(TM) and asked if I want my usual(s), sip my endlessly refilled mug of coffee and say: “This diner is my place, and these are my people too.”

I’ve moved to many new places. None of them come with a guarantee of happiness and belonging. It’s never guaranteed that I will fit in. Belonging takes time and effort. Belonging is an achievement. But even if you only get 1 year in a city, you’ll never regret finding your people there.

***

I wish things were easier and I didn’t have to shrug off so many rejections, uncertainties and setbacks.

At least I don’t have to waste much time thinking to myself “Well, what would Alexander Hamilton do, if he were in my position?” 

I know the answer to that one already.

He’d write.

I bless the rains down in Atlanta

Don’t bother with waterproofs in Georgia. Get caught in a summer thunderstorm and you’re getting soaked. Waterproofs just leave you at the uncomfortable ‘partially-damp & itchy’ level of wetness. Let the rain soak you instead: it’s less like being under a warm shower; more like floating in a warm bath. I’ve been caught in those thunderstorms when I was out walking. The sidewalks turned to rivers – I splashed along up to my ankles in lukewarm water. Atlanta drivers – oblivious at the best of times – sent plumes of water breaking over me as they passed. By the time I got home to towel down the rain had stopped, the sun was pounding down, and half the deluge had already evaporated.

Southern thunderstorms are quite something. I love them.

***

I’m dealing with a professional upheaval right now. I’m not in a place where I can talk about it (yet) because (i) I don’t want to jinx the good stuff (ii) hindsight makes it easier to write an intelligible account that people would actually want to read.

Anyway. Here’s a bullet point summary of the things I’m balancing that I can talk about:

• Communication & Marketing for Women in Bio-ATL. They’re a professional organisation bringing together all “bio” and “bio-related” folk for networking/professional development. I’m creating event flyers & email promo.
•  Emory Postdoc Science Writers Fall 2018 magazine. I’m reprising my role as Editor for a “microbiome”-themed issue. It’s great to see the postdoc team grow in confidence with their science writing: tackling unfamiliar topics, longer article forms, letting their personalities come through (we’re often taught to repress personality in our academic writing).
• Wikipedia Fellows Women in Science cohort. There are several programs trying to boost the representation of female scientists on Wikipedia. The Wikipedia Fellows program is being rolled out by WikiEdu, targeting scientists who belong to professional organisations (e.g. the American Chemical Society). So I’ve been part of a summer program learning how to edit Wikipedia – something I’ve never thought much about, but is easier than I imagined. I’ve expanded several “stub” articles, and created a brand new Wikipedia entry for a scientist in my field whose omission from the platform was suitably glaring.
• Freelance science writing. I had an article idea I felt inspired to pitch to an online science magazine. Much to my surprise I received a reply several days later encouraging me to submit the full thing. It’s a beast: I’m chasing down scientists in 4 countries for interviews, and collecting lots of crunchy numbers to back up the point(s) I’m trying to make (not all of the information is displayed to the public). This kind of science writing exercise gives me a massive kick – it’s stressful, but it activates so many regions of my brain at once. I can only hope the article inside my head eventually matches what I commit to writing.

***

It’s a busy time. Evidently I like being busy. You’d hope I would.

Beneath the bubble and frenzy is an undercurrent of fear and anxiety. I’m trying to reposition myself into a new professional lane, aware that I don’t have the luxury of unlimited funds or time. I’ve also got plenty of handicaps that make getting what I want harder than it would be for others. The stakes are higher in some of the projects than others. If my freelance article gets accepted it’ll make it easier for me to successfully pitch future stories (editors always look for previous published work).  If the article is killed it brings me back to where I was before, with an additional dent in my self-confidence. It’ll also decelerate my income flow, which is I need to keep a tight watch over.

I know the point I lose confidence and momentum is when I’ll fall. So I’m pushing forward and filling up my Moleskine planner with reminders, deadlines & To Do lists. It’s been several years since I wanted to fight for a city with the ferocity I’m fighting for Atlanta. That alone tells me I should fight harder.

Word Play. Part 1

When asked the “What is your background and where are you going?” question recently, I realised my answer had shifted.

Usually I begin my story in 2010 within the cubicle maze of corporate American pharma. Walking through silky air-conditioned corridors listening to the metallic whirr of coffee machines and the deep glug of water coolers. Still a chemistry undergrad, I realised I wanted this: the trappings of white-collar life and the stimulation of industrial research projects. I would get a PhD in Organic Chemistry, then angle after an industry position. Watching the company spasm through a site-closure and mass layoffs while I interned there didn’t kill my desire, but I knew I’d have to be careful if I followed this plan. That career narrative followed a sensible path (who wouldn’t want a well-paid, stimulating job?!) and had compelling logic (me needing a PhD for an industrial position was an reasonable statement).

Except this time I answered the question a different way. I shifted my narrative back 5 years. Back to grubby linoleum, the faint tang of lemon disinfectant blending into stale urns of instant coffee sealed behind staffroom doors. Back to the time when I was arguable better-dressed, albeit in a far more flamboyant way. Back to secondary school.

“It was assumed I’d go and study English literature or writing rather than chemistry, because I was so good at it…” I began.

I feel dubious about pitching my origin story back to my secondary school days. This all happened a decade ago. Did my life peak before university?! Haven’t I done anything significant since then? But as already discussed in ‘Terminal Star‘ – secondary school was when my adult identity formed, and I first articulated my values.  I was good at all my classes. But people saw how I went about writing.

Bonus material time! The following is my contribution to the December 2006 student magazine. The school had just endured a government audit that sharply criticised its facilities, drawing ire in the local newspapers. In a tone influenced by The Onion, I decided to defend my prized school.

One line of my piece was censored: I originally wrote “lessons are an ‘Open Mike’ session against the teachers.” Which was a reference to an incident involving a teacher named Mike that local newspapers & tabloids feasted on…and I’m still annoyed my line was mangled. Let this be a correction to the record.

I wouldn’t want to put my secondary school writing up for scholarly critique. Plenty of the in-jokes and references won’t make sense to the casual reader. Yet I’m still proud of it. I didn’t agonise over its composition, in fact I recall clacking it out in a one-r and barely revising. I toyed around with which mundane school group to gift a “militant wing” – I went with the Chamber Orchestra as the funniest. If I had to rewrite the article today…I’m not sure I could make many improvements.  It’s still recognisable as my “voice”. I comes across as confident in a way I’m never confident in the flesh. It’s clear I relished writing the takedown.

**

The point is that from 2006 to present my writing often took a back seat or was actively suppressed. But if science was my expertise…writing was my instinct. I don’t believe I was wrong to care about white-collar science, or that my logic had holes in it. I just think that I should listen more closely to what drives me.

In my next post I’ll bring the narrative up to the present day, explaining why Alexander Hamilton has become my historical homeboy.

Dawn in the Chem Lab of Good and Evil

Rolling a Halloween party into my postdoc interview travel plans worked out great. One of the airlines I used charged for carry-on bags and my finances were crunching pretty badly…so I went to the Halloween party as Elle Driver (minus her sword). Saved money. Saved myself from wheeling a suitcase across sweaty Atlanta. Got the job.

You can propose your own moral to this story.

Anyway, my first point of call in Atlanta was en route to my hotel: Soul Vegetarian Restaurant. Discovering new cuisine can be akin to discovering a new colour – suddenly you are tasting the world in an extra dimension. I’d almost finished my late lunch when a customer stopped by my table and laid her hand on my shoulder. “Baby, you don’t need to eat it so fast – we know it’s good!”

I was suitably embarrassed, but the encounter showcased the two greatest things about Atlanta: the quality of its food and the sass of its inhabitants.

Sold.

***

On the Eastern Seaboard I was “Miss” or “M’am”. Below the Mason-Dixon line I’m “Miss Claire”. I’ve decided not to push the doctoral degree too hard in everyday social interactions (would “Doctor Claire” be a Workable Thing down here?). Aside from that, I’ve not had to overcome any major culture shocks. There’s so much migratory influx, gentrification and development that Atlanta feels geographically unmoored. In the spring cool I could be anywhere in the United States: mall wastelands, grimy downtown highrises, crammed hipster coffeeshops, tranquil parkland where only the faintest grind of cars can reach you. I like it.

***

Aside from the martial arts renaissance, I’m indulging in word play. Heavy word play. Emory has a Postdoctoral Association Science Writers Committee – an email call for participants went out within weeks of me moving to the area. Before I even had my employment authorisation documents processed by USCIS I was at the committee meeting, explaining awkwardly that I wasn’t YET a postdoc..but hoped I’d be one soon. I’m trying to take my writing more seriously, getting experience and using the many springboards that a university setting offers. If you haven’t noticed, I created a new blog page to staple my writing in one place.

I feel slightly uncomfortable about being “out” as an aspiring science writer. Ninety-eight percent of the time when scientists ask me where I plan to take my career, their exact question is: “Academia or industry?”. Telling them that NEITHER is really my plan is too much of a hassle in casual conversation, it feels like I’m giving them a wrong answer. But I’m at the stage in my career where I need to move into “my career”, and if nobody knows I want to be a science writer…how can I expect to become one? So I’m trying to raise my voice a bit. Will see how it goes.

 

Terminal Star

I inferred he died by stumbling upon a casual Facebook exchange between two acquaintances. They mentioned a first name, and commented upon how touching the funeral was. They were clearly talking about a teacher from Madras College (my secondary school): I had to search through all the teachers I knew who shared his first name – of which there were several – to find an obituary that confirmed we’d lost him.

Damn.

This happened last year. It was night and I was the last one in our office. When I stepped away from my laptop and wandered into the lab, the roar of the air handlers seemed louder and more jarring.

I wouldn’t be HERE. Not without him.

Back in 2003, I’d be 14. The age where you’re figuring out what you want to do with your life; but more importantly, the kind of person you want to be. What do you value? How do you define success? Who are you going to model yourself after?

Back in 2003, I was starting my Standard Grades at Madras. The first set of formal qualifications in the Scottish education system. You start to strategise. What are you good at? What do you enjoy? What are you interested in studying at university?

I was good at everything. The year before Standard Grades we all took “general science” – a mashup course. Our final grade would determine how many science Standard Grades we could take. A-grade? All three (Biology, Chemistry, Physics). B-grade? Two max. Etc. This was an intellectual challenge I gunned for: I wanted all three. It was more about points-scoring than long-term planning.

WK became my Standard Grade Chemistry teacher. What entranced 14-year old me was his array of interesting science facts and anecdotes. Chemistry could be linked to the wholesale retail in chip shops (via acetic acid – vinegar). Chemistry could be linked to Grangemouth. When egged on by other students he applied a distinctively scientific mind towards the French language and its verb tables. Or the democratic voting systems we were learning about in Modern Studies. No one else in my Madras College sphere of influence was that much of a generalist. WK was smart. Crucially, he was smart about a lot of things all at once.

That really impressed me.

From Standard Grade to Highers. To Advanced Highers. To university. I chose a degree in science even though I seemed more adept at English literature. But good textual analysis required a scientific sensibility. I chose a degree in Chemistry because I wanted to situate myself in the middle of Science. Biology on the left, Physics on the right – a chemist could grasp at them both.

I’m not the smartest or most talented Chemistry PhD out there. And that’s fine, because I still think I’d prefer to be a generalist. To have anecdotes and interesting facts.

WK died of pancreatic cancer, I found out. By the time he was ill enough to go to the doctor (maybe a week before the end of the school year) it was far too late. He died a couple of weeks after his diagnosis. While I kept in touch with some of my Madras teachers – had mini catch-up chats with others when I passed through the school buildings – I didn’t keep in touch with him. I’m not sure he knew I went for a Chemistry PhD (he stopped at a Masters degree). He certainly didn’t know I was modelling myself and my concepts of “success” and “intelligence” on him.

Damn.

WK wasn’t one of the cool or popular Madras teachers. He never had trouble keeping control in the classroom – he just had to quietly start talking and the students would silence themselves to listen. I’d argue he was one of the funnier ones. I feel like I was one of the few students listed him as a favourite teacher. But that’s fine.

Thank you, WK. I’ve now got a Chemistry PhD, and as far as I’m concerned I was right to follow you. I know you really liked Bob Dylan, Scottish country music and a bit of Classic FM. I also know you disliked Girls Aloud (“Can’t sing.”). I think maybe you’d like Karine Polwart and her song Terminal Star. It makes me think of you, in any case.

 

 

Mental Gymnastics

It took a long time to line up post-PhD employment. The advice I enacted is to start looking for postdoctoral positions 12 months before you are due to defend. I learned that could be a conservative estimate.

Damn, so much rejection and failure.

I’m not a perfect applicant. Some of my flaws I’ve tried to erase or conceal. Others I feel resigned to. I tried to evolve over the search – not taking anything for granted. Oh, I thought I’d got a good CV final draft? Maybe look at it again next month, compare it to the one that hotshot Assistant Professor uploaded. See if I can emulate their crisp format.

I tried to be aspirational. Wherever the line between aspirational and delusional is…I must have swerved across it multiple times. Some of the professors I assumed would never read a postdoc app from the likes of me came back with a profession of interest. Some of the professors who I thought I had a good shot with apologised for the lack of funding and space. You don’t know until you try. And you don’t always know what these competitive labs are looking for in terms of skills/personal qualities with their postdocs.

Some top groups were booked up with postdocs for the next 2-3 years. If you want to network my way into a Top 10 Chemistry lab at a Top 10 University, you probably have to start in your first year of grad school. I found myself annoyed that I hadn’t attended a Gordon Conference during my PhD – it would have helped.

Close to 50% of my rejections were implicit. An email application was fired off…and nothing ever came back. I know one colleague who got a response after maybe 3 months (“Hey sorry for the delay, are you still interested in my lab? Want to come for an interview?”), long after hope must have died. Kinda wish I hadn’t heard that story. Many professors replied to my email and explained that they’d love to take me on…if only they had funding. It’s the most diplomatic way to reject an applicant – nothing personal, only financial – although with NIH grant proposals simmering around the 10% acceptance rate it is often true.

Good timing helps. If your application is near the top of the pile when a grant is approved/re-approved you have a good chance of a callback. But since federal funding is an endless gnashing cycle of submissions and proposal review dates you might never get a formal rejection when a PI is chasing cash. “The grant I was hoping for didn’t come through last week…but if you’re willing to wait there’s another one I’m trying for in a couple of months.” And you’ve no idea how likely it is the grant will come through. Maybe you’ll still be on top of the pile if it does…maybe a better applicant will have come along.

I have sympathy for the professors. They get a lot of postdoc applications. Many of them took the time to reply to my cold call with a couple of apologetic sentences. I could cross them off my list – thick red lines of ink – and move on.

I have very little sympathy for the post-interview ghosters. After a Skype (or even one campus) interview…nothing. That stings. My suspicion is that it’s an American cultural-linguistic thing. British academics are cagey and stick to formulaic script: “If I were to make you an offer, when would you be able to start?” You know everything is provisional, nothing is guaranteed, and they can email you later to say they’ve decided not to make you an offer and you don’t feel blindsided.

In several instances, American academics don’t seem to know about this useful qualifying language. They talk to you like they’re seriously wanting to make you an offer but just need a few days to mull and double-check. They go as far as to tell you “Let’s email early next week and take it from there.” And like a chump I emailed them when I thought they wanted me to email…and never received a reply. They got a polite follow-up ~7 days later…but at that point I’d taken the hint.

American academics: don’t ghost people you’ve interviewed. It’s cowardly and unhelpful.   By the interview stage I’m already performing mental gymnastics to see if I could imagine myself in this new lab, in this new city. Could I make this work? I start taking the prospect of joining a lab seriously, planning ahead so I know what questions to ask and what signs to look for. A simple lie about “research interests not aligning” would be acceptable. I hate being stressed out in a post-interview limbo. I hate realising I misread major social cues and chased after a PI who didn’t want to be chased. Why did you invite me to email you back?!

Anyway. I’m sorted.

I’m happy and relieved that I’m sorted.

I don’t feel like I “settled for something less” or was forced into a postdoctoral position out of desperation. An application aligned with funding and availability.

I got something I really wanted. A postdoc position in a big city. I admit it wasn’t a big city on my initial list of Big Cities I Want to Live In…but if anything it could be a better fit than my earlier choices.

My PhD defence date is in early December. I start the postdoc in late January. Stay tuned.

Heavy Thunder

We’re at the apex of summer on the Eastern Seaboard. Humidity. The air outside seems to press down on you with force, its that hot. Despite that, I can sleep through the night without air conditioning, though sometimes I have to migrate to the cold wooden floor for a couple of hours to make it easier.

I remember my first week in the United States, back when I was doing my Year In Industry in Philadelphia. The heat was surprising…but the first thunderstorm dumbfounded me. Thunder & lightening is so rare in the UK, maybe a couple of murmurs of thunder and flickers of light. I was scared by the noise over in here – how loud, close and relentless the strikes were. How much rain could be voided out of the sky…and then how bright the sun could be shining minutes later. These days the thunderstorms don’t scare me, in fact my ears prick with anticipation when I hear on the radio that one is rolling through. The summer thunderstorms are one of the things I like the most about America.

***

My PhD is almost finished. The number of reactions left to run I can count on my fingers. This past week has seen the dismantling of our lab, ready for its migration South. Chemicals have been expertly boxed by a specialist moving company, our glassware has been laid out in pristine fume hoods according to flask size/type, etc ready for similar treatment. We defrosted the fridges and turned off the instruments.

It feels a little surreal, especially since I’m remaining here on the Eastern Seaboard. Where I can survive at home without A.C. On the one hand it all feels anticlimactic – my research is over, no more stress about obtaining Publishable Data (I’ve 2 papers to wrap up) and getting enough results to defend my PhD. I’ve got all my results…and that’s fine.

The job/postdoc search is a slog. I’m in several holding patterns as potential bosses wait to hear about grants that may or may not appear. A government department has sunk into a hideous backlog and PIs across the country are howling with frustration along with the grad students, postdocs and visiting scientists whose future career step is paused mid-stride. I get polite rejections of “no funding or space left” – could be a diplomatic lie, could be the truth – and have to sit back down at my computer and fire off another round of cheery applications. Like the rejections aren’t hurting me.

It’s hard to balance idealism against rising desperation. Some career steps can do more harm than good. Would a “bad job” be better than no job at all? Have I totally mis-estimated my skills/worth? Right now I’m craving certainty, which is what we all want, I guess.