On August 4th, an article called "How not to get left on the shelf" by Dale Sawak was posted on the Times Higher Education web site. In it, the author argued that if academic authors want their books to be read by a wider audience (or at all), they'll need to engage in some self-promotion.
The article produced an incensed response from some readers. In order to understand why, we need to translate its thesis into Stereotypical Academic Logic. Once translated, the argument looks something like this: Sawak tells researchers who already see themselves as successful (i.e., they have written and published books), that their success is actually limited (by audience, no less; practically an accusation of elitism). He also suggests that in order to achieve "real" success, authors should engage in an activity that's disdained in academe--advertising oneself.
A disclaimer here: part of my research is about the spread of entrepreneurialism and promotionalism in university governance and practice; I wrote my MA thesis in sociolinguistics, and it was a critique of internal public relations at a university. I'm not particularly keen on the idea of having to be a competitive, "marketable" academic, or that we should be forced to participate in phoney promotional activities (I don't think they work anyway) or in the kinds of performance assessments that measure "impact" with a variety of suspect statistics. But as with so many issues, there are elements of self-promotion that relate positively to doing a good job as an academic, rather than buying in to neo-liberal market-oriented self-reformation.
In all fairness there's an underlying critical point in Sawak's article, which is that self-promotion is something that all very successful academics engage in--whether or not they acknowledge it. No-one can argue that Judith Butler, Slavoj Žižek and Noam Chomsky don't "put themselves out there" (though usually the term public intellectual is applied). The suspicion of self-promotion is also part of the reason that blogging and other social media activities are often dismissed by academic colleagues and peers.
Not only are self-promoters more successful, but so are graduate students whose supervisors "push" their students' work actively. Ever wonder how so-and-so managed to get that article published in a good journal, or a helpful research assistant job, or an item that showcases their work on the faculty web page? Committee members and supervisors can help with this too, behind the scenes, and it's in their interests because your success reflects back upon them.
While the necessity of at least some degree of self-promotion may seem obvious, given the academic fear and loathing of public relations (where PR is often conflated with advertising and/or marketing or even lying and propaganda) it's actually a tough admission for professors to make.
The admission needs to be made, though, because it further disrupts the assumption made by many that meritocracy is the (only) engine powering the university. Passing on advice about appropriate networking and promotional skills should be a part of mentoring undergraduate and graduate students: one needs to know how to put one's best foot forward, simply because it opens up opportunities. As frustrating as this may seem, it's true that ideas don't tend to be recognised due to "merit" and nothing else, just as great scholarly partnerships and collaborations don't develop out of thin air. You need to meet people and they need to see your work.
Female academics, in particular, are vulnerable to the trap in which they remain silent about their own work and its value--as Lee Skallerup Bessette writes in her blog post, "Shameless self promotion". Women in general are less likely to claim expertise, which can be a detriment when it comes to succeeding in an academic career and a public profile. Female graduate students are more likely to suffer from "Imposter Syndrome" and to lack the sense of self-value that helps them develop crucial professional networks.
Granted, there's definitely some promotion-related career advice I would consider to be cynical and unproductive. For example in this article the authors assert that early-career academics must cite important scholars in the field even when their work is only "tangentially" related. I doubt this is necessary for every paper, and I'd agree with some commenters that most authors can see through a meaningless reference and many will dismiss it. Then again it's also true that we don't live in an academic utopia; some scholars do want their egos stroked. If you're willing to engage in that, then take the advice.
If you still find distasteful the idea of engaging in some form of self-promotion, think of it this way: no-one can assess the "merit" of your work unless they have some exposure to it and to you.
Another reason is that you're already producing PR about yourself. You re-write your own CV and cover letters, send copies of your papers for review and revision, organise and/or participate in conferences; you're concerned about your reputation and the impression you make on peers because it affects your work prospects. There's nothing wrong with all this--it's not "beneath you" to consider and engage in these things and and there's no professional penalty for it (quite the opposite). Expand your idea of "public relations" to focus on the broader idea of "relations", relationships, and it's clear that much of our communication is a part of that process; stop assuming that PR is "evil", and you'll realise it's necessary (as well as omnipresent).
As a final note, I'll talk a little bit about this blog. Did I set out to "self-promote" by writing it? Frankly, no, that wasn't the goal; I didn't start blogging because I thought it would be "good for my career". I wanted the other benefits of blogging such as dialogue with peers, sharing of thoughts and commentary, and a space to "mess around" with ideas that haven't yet made it into my formal academic writing.
The blog has led to many great conversations and connections, but it's also had a much wider readership than I ever imagined (though still fairly narrow-!). Blogging here led to guests post at University of Venus on the Inside Higher Ed site (I'm now a regular contributing writer there); it led to one of my posts appearing in the Guardian UK online, and to another post receiving attention in the Times Higher Education. While those aren't the peer-reviewed academic publications that are required for a career as a professor, they're valuable for me especially in that they relate directly to my field of research, and will reach much broader audiences than my own blog.
Let's try to avoid allowing self-promotion to be one of the "dirty secrets" of the academy, something to be sneered at or reserved for the egotistical and vainglorious, something that "real" academics don't do; after all, what's a book launch for?
Showing posts with label professionalization. Show all posts
Showing posts with label professionalization. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Know Your Value
Summer is “conference season” in higher education, a time when many professors, graduate students and administrators find themselves hastily packing the smallest possible suitcase in order to spend three or four days in some remote and/or obscure location.
Conferences can be a great academic opportunity and are presented to graduate students as such. You can meet others and share ideas, as well as giving and receiving feedback and discovering new possibilities for collaboration. But to be realistic, conferences are also an expensive (and therefore a somewhat exclusive) opportunity. Attendees must pay for travel, accommodation, and of course the ubiquitous registration fees. In the past I was able to do presentations in the U.K. and in Washington D.C., and at other conferences within Canada, only because I had a federal grant supporting my studies. These were incredibly rewarding experiences that I wouldn’t have been able to access otherwise.
The high cost of conferences is an example of the strangely skewed economy of the academy. For many graduate students, it’s an expense that is beyond their limited budgets. Yet there is little hope of finding an academic job without attending and presenting at conferences during the course of the Ph.D. Grad students aren’t paid for the time we spend writing conference presentations, or for the presentations themselves; nor are we reimbursed for the travel costs. It’s all considered part of the investment we make in our own careers.
In fact, budding academics do a lot of unpaid work, including peer reviewing, writing book reviews, and producing journal articles (we even hand over copyright to the journals, who then profit from our labour). It’s considered both a privilege and a necessity to have something published, since reviewed publications are another “must” in the process of building an academic career. While we are paid to teach, that’s the work that tends to lack prestige and is not considered as helpful for long-term career development.
What this means is that in graduate school we get used to working for nothing, even as we’re expected to invest heavily in expensive professional development activities. By attending conferences, we pay for the opportunity to present our work to our (future) peers, who are the primary “gatekeepers” to academe. This system helps to perpetuate privilege because only “those who have afforded to work for free will get jobs. The vicious circle is maddening” (Ernesto Priego, July 2, 2011, Twitter).
Thus in spite of increasing accessibility in terms of enrolments, graduate education still tends to be stratified by socioeconomic class (and plagued by high attrition rates). Who can afford to spend time on publication papers and conference proposals and travel, when they must earn money for tuition and rent?* For grad students, especially those from under-privileged circumstances, this can be a trap; and the assumed, eventual “payoff” is now less available than ever as tenure track hires decrease and low-paying contract teaching becomes the norm for an ever-greater proportion of new Ph.Ds.
While all this may seem “normal” to those working within academe, just try explaining the conference system, for example, to someone who’s completely unfamiliar with the way academic careers work. My mother has often asked “when are they going to start paying you to go to these things?”. Viewed from this angle, it’s no surprise that the “investment” in graduate education, specifically the Ph.D, can seem like an illogical one (in spite of all the non-material benefits)—or even a “raw deal”, as many other commentators have framed it already.
The “academic economy” I described may have made more sense in the now-distant past when tenure-track jobs were more readily available, and when publishing was something you could leave until after graduation. But permanent-track professors actually don’t really do these things (publishing, conferences, and so on) for “free”. They earn a stable salary and they receive institutional support for research-related activities, which are considered part of the job. On the other hand, graduate students and early-career academics—particularly those who find themselves doing a lot of contract teaching or other part-time work—are less likely to have the time and resources to fully develop their CVs; and as the academic job market has tightened, the bar has been raised in terms of the level of professionalisation required.
It matters how students “get ahead” in graduate school because the most successful Ph.D students go on to become faculty who help carry forward the university as an institution. If the academic profession becomes a “labour of love” for all but the most elite students and professors, what are we saying about the worth of our education system and our concern for diversity and accessibility within it? What example are we setting for future students (and potential professors)—who will they be?
The contemporary university appears to undervalue the skills, talents, and education of many grad students, rewarding only those committed to an extremely narrow track of professional development and willing and able to make the (material) investments necessary to pursue it. Meanwhile, in other contexts our Ph.D-related experience is much sought after. My recent experience in a career course** has been somewhat eye-opening in this respect. While all members of the group are Ph.D candidates or graduates, we each had a hard time coming up with lists of our “skills” because we’re so used to taking our own capacities for granted. Yet once “translated”, our collective experience and expertise was impressive, and applicable to many of the most interesting positions turning up in job searches.
My point is not that we should do nothing for free, or that we should all leave the academic profession for higher-paying jobs in other areas. What I want to emphasise is that many graduate students have little sense of the worth of their contributions beyond the logic of the academic system (and this has psychological effects, too). While it may no longer lead to a full-time, permanent faculty job, the PhD is not a devalued degree; it’s only under-valued in the academic marketplace, because desirable jobs are scarce.
Because academe presents itself as a meritocracy, often those who “fail” tend to blame themselves for it. But “pure” meritocracy is a myth. This is why knowing your own value means understanding not just what you have to offer in multiple contexts, but also that you have real choices, that there are fruitful possibilities, and that given the kinds of sacrifices involved, “traditional” academic work may not be the best among them.
——————————————————————
*In Canada, there’s some assistance to be had: students may win non-repayable merit grants and fellowships through provincial and/or federal governments. The university where I’m studying also has some options for reimbursement, through our Graduate Students’ Association, the academic union, the Faculty of Graduate Studies, and sometimes through individual programs and departments. There’s increasing demand for all these different forms of funding, but at least some support is available.
**The course is called “Conscious Careers” and is run by Jo VanEvery and Julie Clarenbach.
Conferences can be a great academic opportunity and are presented to graduate students as such. You can meet others and share ideas, as well as giving and receiving feedback and discovering new possibilities for collaboration. But to be realistic, conferences are also an expensive (and therefore a somewhat exclusive) opportunity. Attendees must pay for travel, accommodation, and of course the ubiquitous registration fees. In the past I was able to do presentations in the U.K. and in Washington D.C., and at other conferences within Canada, only because I had a federal grant supporting my studies. These were incredibly rewarding experiences that I wouldn’t have been able to access otherwise.
The high cost of conferences is an example of the strangely skewed economy of the academy. For many graduate students, it’s an expense that is beyond their limited budgets. Yet there is little hope of finding an academic job without attending and presenting at conferences during the course of the Ph.D. Grad students aren’t paid for the time we spend writing conference presentations, or for the presentations themselves; nor are we reimbursed for the travel costs. It’s all considered part of the investment we make in our own careers.
In fact, budding academics do a lot of unpaid work, including peer reviewing, writing book reviews, and producing journal articles (we even hand over copyright to the journals, who then profit from our labour). It’s considered both a privilege and a necessity to have something published, since reviewed publications are another “must” in the process of building an academic career. While we are paid to teach, that’s the work that tends to lack prestige and is not considered as helpful for long-term career development.
What this means is that in graduate school we get used to working for nothing, even as we’re expected to invest heavily in expensive professional development activities. By attending conferences, we pay for the opportunity to present our work to our (future) peers, who are the primary “gatekeepers” to academe. This system helps to perpetuate privilege because only “those who have afforded to work for free will get jobs. The vicious circle is maddening” (Ernesto Priego, July 2, 2011, Twitter).
Thus in spite of increasing accessibility in terms of enrolments, graduate education still tends to be stratified by socioeconomic class (and plagued by high attrition rates). Who can afford to spend time on publication papers and conference proposals and travel, when they must earn money for tuition and rent?* For grad students, especially those from under-privileged circumstances, this can be a trap; and the assumed, eventual “payoff” is now less available than ever as tenure track hires decrease and low-paying contract teaching becomes the norm for an ever-greater proportion of new Ph.Ds.
While all this may seem “normal” to those working within academe, just try explaining the conference system, for example, to someone who’s completely unfamiliar with the way academic careers work. My mother has often asked “when are they going to start paying you to go to these things?”. Viewed from this angle, it’s no surprise that the “investment” in graduate education, specifically the Ph.D, can seem like an illogical one (in spite of all the non-material benefits)—or even a “raw deal”, as many other commentators have framed it already.
The “academic economy” I described may have made more sense in the now-distant past when tenure-track jobs were more readily available, and when publishing was something you could leave until after graduation. But permanent-track professors actually don’t really do these things (publishing, conferences, and so on) for “free”. They earn a stable salary and they receive institutional support for research-related activities, which are considered part of the job. On the other hand, graduate students and early-career academics—particularly those who find themselves doing a lot of contract teaching or other part-time work—are less likely to have the time and resources to fully develop their CVs; and as the academic job market has tightened, the bar has been raised in terms of the level of professionalisation required.
It matters how students “get ahead” in graduate school because the most successful Ph.D students go on to become faculty who help carry forward the university as an institution. If the academic profession becomes a “labour of love” for all but the most elite students and professors, what are we saying about the worth of our education system and our concern for diversity and accessibility within it? What example are we setting for future students (and potential professors)—who will they be?
The contemporary university appears to undervalue the skills, talents, and education of many grad students, rewarding only those committed to an extremely narrow track of professional development and willing and able to make the (material) investments necessary to pursue it. Meanwhile, in other contexts our Ph.D-related experience is much sought after. My recent experience in a career course** has been somewhat eye-opening in this respect. While all members of the group are Ph.D candidates or graduates, we each had a hard time coming up with lists of our “skills” because we’re so used to taking our own capacities for granted. Yet once “translated”, our collective experience and expertise was impressive, and applicable to many of the most interesting positions turning up in job searches.
My point is not that we should do nothing for free, or that we should all leave the academic profession for higher-paying jobs in other areas. What I want to emphasise is that many graduate students have little sense of the worth of their contributions beyond the logic of the academic system (and this has psychological effects, too). While it may no longer lead to a full-time, permanent faculty job, the PhD is not a devalued degree; it’s only under-valued in the academic marketplace, because desirable jobs are scarce.
Because academe presents itself as a meritocracy, often those who “fail” tend to blame themselves for it. But “pure” meritocracy is a myth. This is why knowing your own value means understanding not just what you have to offer in multiple contexts, but also that you have real choices, that there are fruitful possibilities, and that given the kinds of sacrifices involved, “traditional” academic work may not be the best among them.
——————————————————————
*In Canada, there’s some assistance to be had: students may win non-repayable merit grants and fellowships through provincial and/or federal governments. The university where I’m studying also has some options for reimbursement, through our Graduate Students’ Association, the academic union, the Faculty of Graduate Studies, and sometimes through individual programs and departments. There’s increasing demand for all these different forms of funding, but at least some support is available.
**The course is called “Conscious Careers” and is run by Jo VanEvery and Julie Clarenbach.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
"Myths & Mismatches": Where from here?
The last series of blog posts left me all blogged out for a couple of weeks, but I thought I'd offer a follow-up post regarding my thoughts on the e-course by Jo and Julie, on career planning and professional development, and a few other things.
What I found helpful about the course was that it provided me something to respond to, and in the process I found myself thinking harder about my current decisions. And because I'm feeling "stuck" and unfocussed at the moment, this was a valuable exercise. I tried to imagine my self in a particular role, and asked: what would I look like doing this job? How is that going to happen? Where do my current actions take me in terms of that kind of goal? Fairly basic stuff, but I find writing it all down tends to help me with coherence and direction. And when I'm feeling lost, I like to focus on the tangible aims that make it easier to make decisions in the present--since they build towards something in the future.
Some of the things I'm doing at the moment in order to provide myself direction--in a few different aspects of (academic) career development:
Making a decision about an academic "subject area" in which I could work comfortably, i.e. as a member of a department or program or team. This sounds like a no-brainer, and for most people in a PhD program it hasn't been an issue since at least the MA level. But because of the way my interests have developed, choosing an "area" has been a less than straightforward process (my degrees are in Communication Studies, Linguistics, and Education).
A related task is to work towards drawing my various projects into a well-articulated and coherent research "map" that works within that subject area. I have diverse interests, but diversity is only a strength if it's grounded in something stable like a good knowledge base, along with a plan regarding how the various pieces fit together and reinforce each other. I know well enough how everything is related, but I need to work actively to make those connections clear to others. This is important no matter what line of work I end up following.
...Alongside the usual academic channels, I've been experimenting with using social media to meet new colleagues and develop professional relationships, to "network" and to share/publicise my own work, to develop opportunities for contributing to ongoing debates (such as writing articles for other blogs and web sites), and to keep up with news/issues in my fields. As a result, I'm thinking about blogging and other "public communication" as part of academics being "public intellectuals", not just professors or employees of the university. I'd like my blog to be a way to share my ideas even as I'm developing them in other ways (e.g. through research).
While I won't swap social media for more traditional fora such academic conferences, participation in the latter is restricted for me because of the expense (travel, accommodation, registration fees) and timing. Sources like Twitter are an ongoing means of conversing with others whose interests I share, engaging in long-term exchanges that keep me thinking and that open up the discussion to anyone who can use a hashtag.
I'm working on teaching through practice (even just with my small tutorial group this year) and through development of approaches and philosophies; and I'm thinking about pedagogy rather than "teaching", about theory and overall strategy as well as classroom tactics and practices. I'm looking for ways to examples that "stick".
And in the context of our wired classroom, where students can use laptops and Blackberries to "tune out" from course discussions, I'm trying to understand and take into account the issues involved--"student engagement" and technology in the classroom; consumerism and credentialism; cognitive development in learning; differences in learning "styles"--and translate that back into an approach that gets students interested enough to abandon Facebook in the middle of class (high hopes, I know).
I still see teaching and learning as being about relationships, communication, partnership, mutual responsibility, motivation, feedback, confidence, hard work, listening, and changing your approach when something doesn't work. Most important to me is to create an environment wherein questions and discussion can happen. With all that in mind I'm considering things like course design (in the abstract) and how this relates to pedagogy, particularly in terms of how different aspects of the course (curriculum/readings, assignments, tutorials and TAs, lectures) all have to work together in a way that makes sense to students.
I think that's all for today. I hope you enjoyed the series of "Myths & Mismatches" posts, and if you're following my blog--thanks for joining me!
What I found helpful about the course was that it provided me something to respond to, and in the process I found myself thinking harder about my current decisions. And because I'm feeling "stuck" and unfocussed at the moment, this was a valuable exercise. I tried to imagine my self in a particular role, and asked: what would I look like doing this job? How is that going to happen? Where do my current actions take me in terms of that kind of goal? Fairly basic stuff, but I find writing it all down tends to help me with coherence and direction. And when I'm feeling lost, I like to focus on the tangible aims that make it easier to make decisions in the present--since they build towards something in the future.
Some of the things I'm doing at the moment in order to provide myself direction--in a few different aspects of (academic) career development:
Making a decision about an academic "subject area" in which I could work comfortably, i.e. as a member of a department or program or team. This sounds like a no-brainer, and for most people in a PhD program it hasn't been an issue since at least the MA level. But because of the way my interests have developed, choosing an "area" has been a less than straightforward process (my degrees are in Communication Studies, Linguistics, and Education).
A related task is to work towards drawing my various projects into a well-articulated and coherent research "map" that works within that subject area. I have diverse interests, but diversity is only a strength if it's grounded in something stable like a good knowledge base, along with a plan regarding how the various pieces fit together and reinforce each other. I know well enough how everything is related, but I need to work actively to make those connections clear to others. This is important no matter what line of work I end up following.
...Alongside the usual academic channels, I've been experimenting with using social media to meet new colleagues and develop professional relationships, to "network" and to share/publicise my own work, to develop opportunities for contributing to ongoing debates (such as writing articles for other blogs and web sites), and to keep up with news/issues in my fields. As a result, I'm thinking about blogging and other "public communication" as part of academics being "public intellectuals", not just professors or employees of the university. I'd like my blog to be a way to share my ideas even as I'm developing them in other ways (e.g. through research).
While I won't swap social media for more traditional fora such academic conferences, participation in the latter is restricted for me because of the expense (travel, accommodation, registration fees) and timing. Sources like Twitter are an ongoing means of conversing with others whose interests I share, engaging in long-term exchanges that keep me thinking and that open up the discussion to anyone who can use a hashtag.
I'm working on teaching through practice (even just with my small tutorial group this year) and through development of approaches and philosophies; and I'm thinking about pedagogy rather than "teaching", about theory and overall strategy as well as classroom tactics and practices. I'm looking for ways to examples that "stick".
And in the context of our wired classroom, where students can use laptops and Blackberries to "tune out" from course discussions, I'm trying to understand and take into account the issues involved--"student engagement" and technology in the classroom; consumerism and credentialism; cognitive development in learning; differences in learning "styles"--and translate that back into an approach that gets students interested enough to abandon Facebook in the middle of class (high hopes, I know).
I still see teaching and learning as being about relationships, communication, partnership, mutual responsibility, motivation, feedback, confidence, hard work, listening, and changing your approach when something doesn't work. Most important to me is to create an environment wherein questions and discussion can happen. With all that in mind I'm considering things like course design (in the abstract) and how this relates to pedagogy, particularly in terms of how different aspects of the course (curriculum/readings, assignments, tutorials and TAs, lectures) all have to work together in a way that makes sense to students.
I think that's all for today. I hope you enjoyed the series of "Myths & Mismatches" posts, and if you're following my blog--thanks for joining me!
Monday, January 17, 2011
"Myths & Mismatches" Part 10: What it takes, for what it's worth
Here is the last post in my series of responses to Jo Van Every and Julie Clarenbach's e-course on "Myths & Mismatches" in academic careers. I hope you've enjoyed reading these posts, and I recommend this e-course as well as other materials available on both authors' web sites.
Mismatch #5: Mismatch of Skills
As discussed in a previous post in this series, we often gain more "skills" from graduate training than we think. But the "flip-side" of that fact is that those skills are also required to develop successful academic career.
"Success" at an academic job involves juggling aspects of work that require both collaboration and independent, creative work; maintaining a high level of communicative competence in both spoken and written forms and for diverse audiences; working both within and without structures and time constraints, as the context demands/requires; and having both micro- and macro-level understanding of a topic or issue or project.
While "for some people, these skills come naturally", many of us will need to learn to balance our strengths and weaknesses to achieve the necessary results; personally I think I'll need a workaround for my introversion (I now call it being "selectively social"), for my non-linear mode of approaching things (though I'm getting much better at dealing with that), and for my chronic perfectionism about research/writing (the blog helps, I think). I worry that I'll be too "taxed" by teaching to finish any worthwhile research, that my focus couldn't be sustained while my attention has to be stretched in so many different directions. But then I also know that when I get into a scheduled "groove", I often rise to the challenge and get more work done than I would otherwise.
The question posed by Jo and Julie is whether "making do" in this way is "sustainable" for you. Like students, academics "have wildly different skill sets" and while "there may be a way to bridge that gap [...] it may not be worth the time and effort required". In other words, if the demands of the job feel like "too much", there may only be so far you can go in terms of professionalizing yourself. In my case, I ask myself whether I can learn to hone my focus for shorter periods in order to cope with the fragmentation of diverse scheduled tasks, and whether I can clobber my perfectionism and just "let go" of my writing the way others seem to be able to do. Whether I can get around feeling a disheartening sense of personal responsibility every time a student does poorly. Will "trying harder" be enough?
-------------------------
Previous posts in this series:
Part 1: "Myths and Mismatches", Oh My!
Part 2: Time, Place, and Opportunity
Part 3: Assessing Your Qualifications
Part 4: Structural Faults?
Part 5: The Myth of Academic Meritocracy
Part 6: Getting Your Priorities Straight
Part 7: How to Apply Yourself
Part 8: Are You "at Home"?
Part 9: Finding Your Place
Mismatch #5: Mismatch of Skills
As discussed in a previous post in this series, we often gain more "skills" from graduate training than we think. But the "flip-side" of that fact is that those skills are also required to develop successful academic career.
"Success" at an academic job involves juggling aspects of work that require both collaboration and independent, creative work; maintaining a high level of communicative competence in both spoken and written forms and for diverse audiences; working both within and without structures and time constraints, as the context demands/requires; and having both micro- and macro-level understanding of a topic or issue or project.
While "for some people, these skills come naturally", many of us will need to learn to balance our strengths and weaknesses to achieve the necessary results; personally I think I'll need a workaround for my introversion (I now call it being "selectively social"), for my non-linear mode of approaching things (though I'm getting much better at dealing with that), and for my chronic perfectionism about research/writing (the blog helps, I think). I worry that I'll be too "taxed" by teaching to finish any worthwhile research, that my focus couldn't be sustained while my attention has to be stretched in so many different directions. But then I also know that when I get into a scheduled "groove", I often rise to the challenge and get more work done than I would otherwise.
The question posed by Jo and Julie is whether "making do" in this way is "sustainable" for you. Like students, academics "have wildly different skill sets" and while "there may be a way to bridge that gap [...] it may not be worth the time and effort required". In other words, if the demands of the job feel like "too much", there may only be so far you can go in terms of professionalizing yourself. In my case, I ask myself whether I can learn to hone my focus for shorter periods in order to cope with the fragmentation of diverse scheduled tasks, and whether I can clobber my perfectionism and just "let go" of my writing the way others seem to be able to do. Whether I can get around feeling a disheartening sense of personal responsibility every time a student does poorly. Will "trying harder" be enough?
-------------------------
Previous posts in this series:
Part 1: "Myths and Mismatches", Oh My!
Part 2: Time, Place, and Opportunity
Part 3: Assessing Your Qualifications
Part 4: Structural Faults?
Part 5: The Myth of Academic Meritocracy
Part 6: Getting Your Priorities Straight
Part 7: How to Apply Yourself
Part 8: Are You "at Home"?
Part 9: Finding Your Place
Sunday, January 9, 2011
"Myths & Mismatches" Part 3: Assessing Your Qualifications
Today's "myth" from Jo and Julie is a real classic, something that can be unconsciously inculcated from the moment you enter graduate school-! And it's this...
"Myth #2: You’re Unqualified to Do Anything Else"
This is the illusion that even after successfully completing a PhD, there's still no-one other than a university who'd hire you--because what "real-world" relevance is there for your academic training? (And look--there's that "Real-World/Academia divide again.) Part of the reason for this assumption is that in graduate school, the focus is placed heavily on "content knowledge" and not on the skills and "process knowledge" that come along with grad school experiences. And (discipline-specific) content is generally less transferable to work outside the university.
This is an idea that works alongside "Myth #1", that "success" after the PhD means becoming a tenured research professor (and that any work outside the university is somehow "lesser" than an academic job). Not only are you unqualified for a job in another field; it would also be an admission of inadequacy to abandon the quest for tenure-track employment. In some cases this line of thinking can be quite potently inhibiting.
As the authors point out, "the reality is that, outside of academia, most jobs are far more about your skills than about your content knowledge - and just by virtue of having been through graduate school, you've amassed a lot of relevant skills" relating to research, writing, editing, presenting, organizing, collaborating, assessing, teaching...the list goes on.
I still feel as if I'm simply not aware of most of the job options I have in front of me (but with a much better sense of possibility than I had several years ago). Though I'm in a position where my topic of research is one that can apply in more than one context, I still have so little idea of my own usefulness outside the university classroom--and how to put that to work. I'm fairly sure I still have talents I haven't yet discovered, and I think that's been the major lesson I'd take away from the past 8 years or so. After all, when I abandoned my BFA after two years, I never imagined I'd end up studying Communication Studies, Linguistics, and Education (and doing well at it). I know I have a lot of fears and insecurities to overcome, but I think I'd rather feel significantly uncertain than feel as if I'm staking my career on only one prospect.
Jo and Julie also write that "academic disciplines act as though they're in competition with one another, viciously defending methodological and content boundaries between fields that one might think would have lots of things to say to one another." I don't know if it's my own interdisciplinary background or perhaps a kind of inherent pragmatism, but I've never held much to the maintenance of boundaries between different kinds of knowledge. My reasoning is that I'm more likely to be able to address a problem critically if I can do it from multiple angles; and that is a skill highly applicable to the "real world".
Lastly, there's "a general denigration of intellectual work" in our culture (speaking broadly about Anglo-America), such that what is "academic" is considered to be irrelevant, disconnected from reality somehow--like academics themselves. This is reinforced by the beliefs we may hold about the "narrowness" of our education, beliefs that can prevent us from seeing our own value in contexts other than academe. They can also prevent us from learning how to communicate the relevance of intellectual work to larger publics, which is a increasingly an expected function of faculty work as well.
----------------------------------
Previous posts in this Series:
Myths and Mismatches, Oh My!
"Mismatches #1": Time, Place, and Opportunity
"Myth #2: You’re Unqualified to Do Anything Else"
This is the illusion that even after successfully completing a PhD, there's still no-one other than a university who'd hire you--because what "real-world" relevance is there for your academic training? (And look--there's that "Real-World/Academia divide again.) Part of the reason for this assumption is that in graduate school, the focus is placed heavily on "content knowledge" and not on the skills and "process knowledge" that come along with grad school experiences. And (discipline-specific) content is generally less transferable to work outside the university.
This is an idea that works alongside "Myth #1", that "success" after the PhD means becoming a tenured research professor (and that any work outside the university is somehow "lesser" than an academic job). Not only are you unqualified for a job in another field; it would also be an admission of inadequacy to abandon the quest for tenure-track employment. In some cases this line of thinking can be quite potently inhibiting.
As the authors point out, "the reality is that, outside of academia, most jobs are far more about your skills than about your content knowledge - and just by virtue of having been through graduate school, you've amassed a lot of relevant skills" relating to research, writing, editing, presenting, organizing, collaborating, assessing, teaching...the list goes on.
I still feel as if I'm simply not aware of most of the job options I have in front of me (but with a much better sense of possibility than I had several years ago). Though I'm in a position where my topic of research is one that can apply in more than one context, I still have so little idea of my own usefulness outside the university classroom--and how to put that to work. I'm fairly sure I still have talents I haven't yet discovered, and I think that's been the major lesson I'd take away from the past 8 years or so. After all, when I abandoned my BFA after two years, I never imagined I'd end up studying Communication Studies, Linguistics, and Education (and doing well at it). I know I have a lot of fears and insecurities to overcome, but I think I'd rather feel significantly uncertain than feel as if I'm staking my career on only one prospect.
Jo and Julie also write that "academic disciplines act as though they're in competition with one another, viciously defending methodological and content boundaries between fields that one might think would have lots of things to say to one another." I don't know if it's my own interdisciplinary background or perhaps a kind of inherent pragmatism, but I've never held much to the maintenance of boundaries between different kinds of knowledge. My reasoning is that I'm more likely to be able to address a problem critically if I can do it from multiple angles; and that is a skill highly applicable to the "real world".
Lastly, there's "a general denigration of intellectual work" in our culture (speaking broadly about Anglo-America), such that what is "academic" is considered to be irrelevant, disconnected from reality somehow--like academics themselves. This is reinforced by the beliefs we may hold about the "narrowness" of our education, beliefs that can prevent us from seeing our own value in contexts other than academe. They can also prevent us from learning how to communicate the relevance of intellectual work to larger publics, which is a increasingly an expected function of faculty work as well.
----------------------------------
Previous posts in this Series:
Myths and Mismatches, Oh My!
"Mismatches #1": Time, Place, and Opportunity
Saturday, January 8, 2011
"Myths and Mismatches", Oh My!
Over the next week or so I'll be blogging my responses to "Myths and Mismatches", an e-course by Jo Van Every and Julie Clarenbach. The goal of this series is to bring attention to a number of "myths" that can get in the way of making "conscious career choices" in the academic environment, particularly for those who are feeling "dissatisfied" with academic work.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately (and blogging about it too), since I need to make decisions about "where to go" next, and I find the options overwhelming. I thought it would be interesting to think through my responses to Jo and Julie's course by writing about each of them as they arrive in my inbox.
"Myth #1: The Life of the Mind, or, Academia Is the Only Game in Town"
The first post refers to a misconception about the nature of academe, the idea of the "Ivory Tower"--one that is perpetuated by media images of university life. Jo and Julie advise us not to fall into the trap of imagining "academe" as a cloister into which one can retreat from the Real World whilst pursuing one's ideas in peace among like-minded colleagues (and as far from possible from demanding undergraduate students, for example).
I would say it's no coincidence that this concept of the Lone Scholar is reinforced by the ideal of the tenured research professor, which we're generally encouraged to think of as the norm or the goal. If this utopian environment/position ever came close to existing, it was a characteristic of the traditional "elite" model of university education, something I've written about in previous posts.
The point here is that given the current context, you're certain to be disappointed if you see this as the ideal, since the job description for professors includes juggling not only research but also teaching, committee and other "service" and administration work, student advising and mentoring, attending and planning events and conferences, and and array of extra-curricular work/activities. In fact the trend is for professors to be more "engaged" with audiences beyond the university because ultimately, public communication is what strengthens and smooths the relationship between universities and the communities/contexts in which they operate.
In terms of my own experience, I don't think this idea of the "life of the mind" has ever been one to which I've had much access; and as wonderful as it sounds, I've also never really expected to be able to participate. Jo and Julie make the point that the mythical Great Solitary Thinkers were all men, which is only one part of that equation; there aren't too many role models to emulate. I also don't come from a particularly privileged background (economically or culturally), so my expectations have been different all along. I certainly never imagined I would end up doing a PhD at all. Since my undergrad years I've talked a lot with full-time faculty and had a good look at what happens in the day-to-day life of tenure-track professors (and part-time/contract profs as well). Probably the combination of these factors is why I've always felt ambivalent about the idea of trying to become a professor, as a specific career track. The increased competition in recent years has only made me feel less certain.
Jo and Julie point out that the flip side of "academe as intellectual cloister" is that the "world" outside the university is a barren and banal place, devoid of intellectual engagement. I think the myth of "real world" vs. "academe" is quite destructive, including that of a corporate/business world that's somehow inherently unethical and opposed to academe. It simplifies the problems faced by universities, often reducing them to an "us vs. them" argument, and it precludes the possibility of meaningful engagement across boundaries. This kind of belief also seems to entail that academe is somehow more ethical than other environments. But to cling to that idea is to set oneself up for a despairing fall--academics are no more (or less) inherently moral or "good" than other groups.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately (and blogging about it too), since I need to make decisions about "where to go" next, and I find the options overwhelming. I thought it would be interesting to think through my responses to Jo and Julie's course by writing about each of them as they arrive in my inbox.
"Myth #1: The Life of the Mind, or, Academia Is the Only Game in Town"
The first post refers to a misconception about the nature of academe, the idea of the "Ivory Tower"--one that is perpetuated by media images of university life. Jo and Julie advise us not to fall into the trap of imagining "academe" as a cloister into which one can retreat from the Real World whilst pursuing one's ideas in peace among like-minded colleagues (and as far from possible from demanding undergraduate students, for example).
I would say it's no coincidence that this concept of the Lone Scholar is reinforced by the ideal of the tenured research professor, which we're generally encouraged to think of as the norm or the goal. If this utopian environment/position ever came close to existing, it was a characteristic of the traditional "elite" model of university education, something I've written about in previous posts.
The point here is that given the current context, you're certain to be disappointed if you see this as the ideal, since the job description for professors includes juggling not only research but also teaching, committee and other "service" and administration work, student advising and mentoring, attending and planning events and conferences, and and array of extra-curricular work/activities. In fact the trend is for professors to be more "engaged" with audiences beyond the university because ultimately, public communication is what strengthens and smooths the relationship between universities and the communities/contexts in which they operate.
In terms of my own experience, I don't think this idea of the "life of the mind" has ever been one to which I've had much access; and as wonderful as it sounds, I've also never really expected to be able to participate. Jo and Julie make the point that the mythical Great Solitary Thinkers were all men, which is only one part of that equation; there aren't too many role models to emulate. I also don't come from a particularly privileged background (economically or culturally), so my expectations have been different all along. I certainly never imagined I would end up doing a PhD at all. Since my undergrad years I've talked a lot with full-time faculty and had a good look at what happens in the day-to-day life of tenure-track professors (and part-time/contract profs as well). Probably the combination of these factors is why I've always felt ambivalent about the idea of trying to become a professor, as a specific career track. The increased competition in recent years has only made me feel less certain.
Jo and Julie point out that the flip side of "academe as intellectual cloister" is that the "world" outside the university is a barren and banal place, devoid of intellectual engagement. I think the myth of "real world" vs. "academe" is quite destructive, including that of a corporate/business world that's somehow inherently unethical and opposed to academe. It simplifies the problems faced by universities, often reducing them to an "us vs. them" argument, and it precludes the possibility of meaningful engagement across boundaries. This kind of belief also seems to entail that academe is somehow more ethical than other environments. But to cling to that idea is to set oneself up for a despairing fall--academics are no more (or less) inherently moral or "good" than other groups.
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