Worlds within worlds of careers

Over the last couple of years, I’ve chatted with grad students and postdocs one-on-one about careers beyond the bench. Often conversations start with something like, “I’m interested in science policy.” or “I think I might like to do science communication.” They always prompt an immediate question from me: “What do you mean by that?”

We naturally group things into categories. For science careers, they’re things like academic, industry, communication, policy… These can be good starting points for discussion and exploration, but they belie the complexity of the career landscape. Though people may be thinking of a research tenure-track position when they say “academic,” there’s far more to academia—research, teaching, administration; certificate programs to research-intensive institutions. Similarly, policy might mean advocating for research funding or changes in training structure to on person, but another thinks about synthesizing evidence to inform practice and regulation.

As you start thinking about careers, this complexity is obvious, but it’s worth acknowledging explicitly and diving deeper into what terms mean to you. There are many options within each category. Often real-world jobs bleed across categories. Contemplate what precisely it is that interests you, what’s drawing you to a particular category. Think about your mission. Articulating these things may open your eyes and enable others to imagine possibilities you hadn’t considered before.

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Changing Course, Part 9: Making meaning of deadlines

The last year and a half haven’t been very active for the blog, as my “free” time shifted to other things like editing an association newsletter. But I miss writing, taking some thoughts out of my head and putting them into words, so I’m trying to reclaim some time for that. A while back, I started writing about changing course from being a research-focused postdoc to being… well, something else. You know the ending (I got a job, which I’ve now been in for 3 years), but this is about the experience of getting there. After the slow realization that I didn’t want to become a PI anymore, I had to decide just what I did want to do and how I would get there. My postdoc adviser—who’d been supportive of postdocs pursuing the career path they chose—was taken aback by my consideration of a career outside academia. So I approached a call with my PhD adviser with some trepidation—and instead found a receptive ear and some valuable advice. And that’s where I last left you…
Sometimes deadlines are just dates when things need to get done to avoid negative outcomes. Submit this form so you can keep getting paid. Send in your payment so you don’t get fined. Those are just part of the background. Other deadlines mean something more intangible, even though you may not realize it at the moment.
Earlier in this process, a deadline I kept missing prompted me, in part, to really re-evaluate what I wanted to do. My postdoc adviser and I had a plan for me to write a career development award proposal. There were 3 cycles per year, 3 possible deadlines to aim for. Yet I just couldn’t seem to get started on the proposal. I’d fiddle with some specific aims, but I was making no headway on the core of it. Some of this was related to my mental/emotional state. Marital dissolution stress and some accompanying anxiety and depression were not conducive to deep focus and thinking. But as the cycle of prepping for a deadline and missing a deadline continued, I realized that the deadlines I met might be telling me something about my priorities. Writing a proposal that could be the next step in my academic research career was looking like it wasn’t one of those them.
Those missed deadlines, in part, prompted me to take an inventory, which started the process of changing the direction of my course. Another deadline helped me along in a different way.
I’ve talked about this before, but one thing that immediately captured my interest was science policy. The deadline for a major policy fellowship was just a few months away. Unlike the research career development award that had multiple deadlines, the policy fellowship. If I didn’t get an application together quickly, then I’d either be taking the fellowship off the table as an option or putting my career plans on hold for a year. I wasn’t prepared to do either.
So I got to work. I had clear tasks that needed to get done for the fellowship application. With a hard deadline, I couldn’t just leave it to whenever I “found” the time. I had to be sure I was protecting time to get those things done.
On the surface, a fellowship application might seem like a niche output with little relevance to anything else. But the core element of the policy fellowship application was the personal statement. This statement was meant to capture the essence of what you wanted to do, both during the fellowship and in the long term, and to outline what you brought to the table. I’d been thinking in broad terms and keeping an open mind. But this forced me to articulate, with some degree of specificity, what I saw in my future and how my past experiences were logically leading me there. The application also called for restructuring my CV.
The policy fellowship deadline kick started tangible actions. When I submitted the applications, I had an arc for narrative and a CV that was starting to look more like a resume. As I’d planned, in the weeks after submitting the fellowship applications, I started dipping my toe into the job application process. Without that proximal deadline, it would have taken me considerably longer to get that ball rolling.
Deadlines took on two valuable meanings for me in this transition process. One deadline missed served as a cue that I needed re-evaluate my career goals. Another deadline met served as a catalyst for moving forward in my career change.


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Where we might boldly go

Today marks the 50 years since Star Trek made its television debut. For some, Star Trek is just another show. But for some of us, that fictional universe broadened our horizons.

My parents were just kids when Star Trek premiered. By the time I entered the world, the series had been off the air for more than a decade. But it lived on in re-runs and marathons. My dad would tune in as his schedule and religious observance allowed. That was my first connection to the series.

There was a fair bit of excitement in our household at the news of The Next Generation (TNG), the year that I started kindergarten. I couldn’t tell you what night it aired anymore, but I know that my family was there to watch each new episode.

Just as the original had captured my dad’s imagination, so did TNG irrevocably pull my brother and I into that universe. As we grew up, play between my older brother and I often took the form of away missions. Some time later, after we got our first computer, my brother took to writing screenplays. As portions were finished, my dad, brother, and I would huddle around the computer. We’d each take different characters, throw our voices, and read the scenes. I had my own fan-fic stories, though I kept them to myself mostly. I devoured books­, those written for my age group and those written for the adults. I crafted my salutatorian speech around the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition.

But Star Trek inspired more than just fantasies about space travels and aliens. It was kindling for scientific curiosity. Mine was not a household where textbooks lined the shelves or copies of scientific articles took over tables. But there were books about stars and planets and galaxies. I have little doubt that Star Trek, in no small part, drove a family interest in astronomy.

It certainly spurred my own interest in science. Beverly Crusher (the physician on Picard’s Enterprise) and Jadzia Dax (the intrepid science officer on Deep Space Nine) were brilliant characters, using data and scientific knowledge to solve mysteries. In middle school, we had an assignment to imagine what we might be as adults. The drawing was telling­–that future self was styled rather a lot like Crusher. I don’t recall what exactly I called the job, but it was certainly related to using science to improve medicine.

The truth is, at the time, I didn’t really grasp that such jobs actually existed, or that I might head down (though later leave) a path like that some day. In my view of reality, I envisioned that I would become a physician. That concept was accessible to me. Physicians lived and worked in my town. Scientists did not. None ever came to my schools to talk. Summer programs, when available, were geared toward becoming health professionals.

Yet I still carried that ember of scientific curiosity. In my mind’s eye, I think, science carried a bit of magic. It would carry us forward. In my mind’s eye, there was no reason to think that women would be any less likely to become (or remain) scientists. I really think that Star Trek had some role in that. Yes, Star Trek was fiction. Yes, even the science part of the fiction was ludicrous at times, maybe even often. But, for some of us, it sparked interests in the real thing.

There are many self-appointed guardians and antagonists of science fiction universes. There are those who set themselves up as the oracles who “know” what a story creator truly meant and who should be allowed in “their” temple. There are those who feel the need to establish what makes a True Sci-Fi FanTM. There are those who need to make it clear to everyone that some adored universe is ludicrous or not cool or completely out of step with the dominant social circle. There are those who have a sense of duty to tear into the fictionalized science for being too far removed from reality.

These worlds are not without their problems. When I watch Star Trek these days, I can see problems I didn’t years ago. It’s an imagined future that carries marks of the day. The science, philosophy, and society of Star Trek have their flaws. Nonetheless, that universe holds a special place in my heart. For some of us, it showed us a world where science had a central and visible role in solving problems. It helped create a subconscious view that gender wasn’t a barrier to what we could do or what we could become. It inspired us to boldly go where we might never have imagined before.

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(Not) finding the time

Needless to say, blogging has taken a back seat in my world over the last year or so. Why is that?

Well, it’s many things. First, it was adjusting to a new job outside in a new city. The relocation put me closer to my partner, so that now he and I are able to spend most weekends together. So my weekend time began to fill. During that first year, I was also trying to create consistency in fitness endeavors; it was something important to not just my physical health but my mental health as well. And speaking of, then I needed to take some time to work on mental health. There were seismic shifts in my personal and professional life in a short time, and I needed to address coinciding issues.

As I began to feel I was settling in, I began to feel I wanted to find some new way to contribute to communities I felt connected to. An opportunity presented itself, as I saw a call for applications for an editor-in-chief of the National Postdoctoral Association (NPA) newsletter. I decided to throw my hat in, and just over a year ago, I started volunteering in that capacity. Although it’s a quarterly publication, there are aspects I have to pursue and maintain in the intervening periods too.

Then there are the times I just have to turn my brain off. Or take care of laundry. Or check in with family. Or organize my space. Or…

As a blogger, I’ve never been great with posting consistency. Other things in life encroached on the time I used to put into this blog. The more recent spate came at a time when I also began re-examining what this blog should be about. I am no longer on the academic track. I’m not even a research scientist anymore. There are still experiences I want to share, that I hope someone out there will find useful. There are still many issues I care about, but the way I want to approach them – the way I need to approach them – has changed, and that approach takes more time.

I wish I could I commit more time to this space. And I know it’s more often about carving out time for the things I prioritize. So I’m going to try. I have some ideas and strategies. Now it’s a matter of implementation.

In the meantime, a few glimpses at some things I’ve been doing over the past year:

  • Finished a marathon, this time under 5 hours (barely but still)
  • Visited Paris – a week after the November attacks
  • Presented a poster at the AAAS Meeting
  • Attended the NPA Annual Meeting
  • Had a miserable half marathon (cold, wet, and slow)
  • Led a session at the ASBMB Graduate/Postdoc Professional Development Program
  • Broke 2 hours in half marathon for the first time
  • Caught up with old friends and colleagues on an impromptu trip to Boston
  • Slogged through our first ever trail half marathon – a beast that took more than double our best half marathon time
  • Took an 8-day vacation in Argentina
  • Plunged into training for the next marathon (about 3 months out)

What have you been up to, dear readers?

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Methods and missions

What do I want to do? 

It’s a question that we face time and again. At different times, it’s focused on different aspects of our lives and to different depths – from “What do I want to do for dinner?” to “What do I want to do with my life?”

How do you answer this question when it comes to your career? How do you decide what’s next or even what your long term vision for your career is?

In some ways, it’s simple. You want to apply some skill set toward a particular purpose. Your values – how you prioritize hours, pay, contribution to society, location, etc. – may draw you to or deter you from certain settings and job types. It condenses to a short equation:

skills + interests + purpose + values = dream job

On the surface, it’s deceptively simple. The inputs are four small words. Of course, if you’ve ever given more than a cursory thought to it, you know that defining each of those inputs requires considerable self-reflection. You may have to explore areas of uncertainty. You may have to confront and tear apart what you think you knew. Defining those inputs is not a task you knock out in a coffee break. And frankly I don’t think it’s a task we’re ever fully done with.

But you work on it. You make progress. You’re getting ideas about what things you’d like to do next. How do you translate them to engaging jobs and careers?

In my experience, very early in our careers, we tend to focus on the more practical or tangible elements. As grad students and postdocs, we turn our attention to what we can do, especially as we consider careers that will take us out of the lab. Many professional development workshops, talks, and articles are about how to translate projects into skills for building résumés that feature what we can do, not simply what we’ve accomplished. And this is important for identifying realistic targets and effectively connecting with them.

But there’s another key component that we sometimes neglect or lose sight of in the process.


Mission is bundled in the purpose variable above. Mission is not only about what we want to do. It’s about why we want to do it. Mission isn’t about the tasks we’re good at. It’s about the broader impact we want to have in our communities.

When you make the decision to change the course of your career, it can feel much like you’re looking out into a vast, wild landscape with no clear paths anywhere. You know you have some tools in your pack. And so you think about what you can do with those tools. Maybe you have a machete, so you know you can hack your way through the brush. Maybe you picked up some rope, so you can make your way down some steep descents. You can make forward progress this way. But if you haven’t decided where you’re going, you may end up going where your tools can take you, rather than where you want to go.

Or, think of it another way. In the lab, you design experiments using methods at your disposal but also with particular objectives in mind. It could be validation, optimization, exploration, or hypothesis testing. But the experiment and objectives are part of a larger project that you’re working on. That project is part of a program, and that program is working towards a larger goal. Maybe it’s conserving the environment or developing new therapies for cancer. Whatever it is, though, that’s the mission. You don’t think of your experiments in that context every day. But when you sit down to write a proposal or paper, when you stand up to tell your community about your work, the mission is there. It’s how you get people to care about what you’re doing.

Work outside the lab is much the same. You get to define your mission. You need a mission to define direction, so that you can figure out where you want to go. And you need to be able to communicate that mission, so that others can help you get there. Knowing what skills you have is essential, but people want to know not just what you can do but why you want to do it.

Writing, social media, data analysis, visualization – those are skills, methods. Communication, research, policy, outreach, education – those are vehicles. Both are used in service of diverse purposes. Jobs and careers there are part of programs and organizational missions. Do those purposes and missions fit with yours? To answer that, you have to understand your own.

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