Sweating with the Youngies

It was several months before I joined a gym after accepting my faculty position.  I adored the gym at my graduate institution - the facilities were new, less than 2 blocks from my building, and air-conditioned.  The only downside was alllllll the students.  I went to graduate school in a sunny and warm climate, and as a result most of the girls wore mini-skirts, Ugg boots, and tiny tank tops for nine months out of the year.  A male colleague once described it as, "being sandblasted with Barbies".  Needless to say, I went to the gym during non-meat market hours.

Luckily Midwestern climates tend to select for "hardier" breeds.  Here the gym is less threatening on the scantily-clad women front.  But I still find it awkward at times because of the large numbers of students I teach each semester.  I am a sweater, and not of the knit variety.  I don't glow or glisten.  I sweat.  I sweat because I work hard and I love it.  And I look like hell.  Most days it doesn't phase me.  On others, well, I just don't want to be noticed by my estranged students.

The past few weeks I have really enjoyed sweating with the youngies.  I'm in my mid-30s, have a two-year old, and a husband older than me.  My gut jiggles, lines are setting into my face, and my thighs are way past their prime.  But I. Am. FIT.  I jog on the track and hold my own against young men and women 10 years my junior.  And while running countless laps (1500 m/lap) to sate my lust for miles, I take stock of the regulars. The most inspirational is a a woman in her late 50s early 60s.  I watch her on the gym floor below, a faculty member (I assume) who plays pick-up games of basketball during rush hour at the gym.  She is just shy of six feet tall, and judging by the quality of her shoes, has played seriously for a long time.  Her team mates and opponents alike underestimate her agility, but she is really inspirational to watch.  Powerful.  Graceful. Unapologetic. I achieve my best times when she is playing - my legs take on a life of their own.  Suddenly my tummy isn't jiggling, my thighs aren't flapping, and my hair is not pasted to my forehead.  As I pass fellow runners (and truly, in real life, I always do) I am solid, and strong, and proud.  Phenomenal faculty woman, that's me.

Desperately Seeking Other Humans

While putting together my third-year dossier the past several months, I found myself increasingly searching the blogosphere for others' stories along the tenure-track.  I guess I was searching for a healthy dose of humanness to help ground, or perhaps alleviate, some of the anxiety, insecurity, and resentment that built with each day I spent writing and revising my materials.  But what I found was really a whole lot more of the same -- academics scared to write about anything personal.  Adopting pseudonyms and writing in guarded, veiled narratives to avoid being identifiable by anyone -- for fear of retribution, how blogging might impact chances for promotion and tenure, or how their personal blog personality might impact future job chances. Or on the other extreme, outwardly hostile and critical of all aspects of academic life (I guess if that were me I'd be thinking about how to get another job).  But I did find a few, refreshing humans out there who just happen to be in academia.  And so to save you some time looking, I've included them here:

Red Lips and Academics sounds like a person I could have coffee with.  Down to Earth, and ready to tell it how it is.  I particularly like her Geek Love post which made the front page of Wordpress .

Scientopia is actually a host of different bloggers, each of which is in love with science.  So it's not all about academia, which I like, but when a post crops up it's usually pretty good.  I particularly like Dr Becca, and a post that resonates with me a lot right now as I finally feel I am getting my own research and up and going!

No Pictures Please!

And so, there will be none.  For I just returned from a Gordon Research Conference, where there are no published abstracts, conference proceedings, or papers.  Just the sharing of research at the frontier of the field.  Pretty exciting, yes?  Well, I certainly thought so. Particularly since I met leaders in my field whose work is shaping how I frame my own.  More than that, I interacted with scientists from all stages in their academic careers and from multiple continents.  With that much diversity in thought, it was difficult not to fall in love (again) with science. 

This conference was a series of contrasts for me.  I walked away both ravenous and sated, vindicated and vulnerable, academic and motherly.  After five days away, I still attempt to maintain the balance between  these polar opposites. Science completely fascinates me, the pursuit of which has always seemed to be a single player sport. Yet my family (husband and son) continue to captivate me with their unending curiosity.  I realized at this conference that these two are not at odds, my scientific community and family. Rather, they are complementary.  Together, we are curious about the world.  Not to find THE answer, but because the world is an exciting series of mysteries to be unlocked.  And what better way to be a scientist and/or parent than to journey with others on grand investigations?

Man Repellant

I've never been what one might call "striking".  Yes, I had my Gremlin stage like most adolescents.  But now I would rate myself as a strong 7.  Not really a looker, but not a troll either.  So imagine my surprise this weekend while away at a conference when not one but two completely unknown men tried to chat me up.  I am happy to report that in unwanted situations such as these, merely uttering the statement "I am a (female) biochemistry professor" is sufficient to repel such vermin.

Ms. Mentor Eats Humble Pie

There are far too many parallels between good parenting and good mentoring.  Just like your children don't come with instruction manuals, neither do your students.  And those little half-day workshops on mentoring are about as effective as those parenting seminars at the hospital.  Sure, there are little kernels you tuck away for later use, but you never know what does (or in most cases does NOT) work until you have one of your own.  

So it seems a bit more than coincidental that I would get my first born and my first graduate students at about the same time.  All the faster to grey my hair, I guess.  Or to assume a more positive outlook, double the lessons I learn each day.  Most recently, I invited a prospective graduate student to visit campus.  Driven, intelligent, and personable, she would have been the golden child in my lab.  So imagine my excitement when, as I put her on the plane, she talked about the next steps in submitting her application to my program.  For the following week, my head was in the clouds, designing the next set of experiments that would catapult my research from ho-hum to "check out that lab in the MidWest!"  Yes, I know, a little far-fetched, but that's how a good student will make you feel when you are pre-tenure!!

Exactly one week later I received an email.  She expressed her interest in my research, but regrettably had decided not to apply because she couldn't see how she "fit in", not just as a person but the region (flat, cold, and little diversity) was nowhere she could commit to for 5 years.  I sent a warm reply, congratulating her on her maturity in making a tough decision and extending an offer of assistance should she ever need it.  But as I wrote that email, I mentally tore up all those experiments I had planned.  I began planning my alternate career path now that I was destined never to achieve tenure for lack of recruiting students to my lab.  And I stewed.  How could she be coming one day, and so quickly change her mind the next.  I blamed my institution for not being prestigious enough, the region for being so cold 9 months out of the year, and anybody/thing else I could think of.

But then I ran into GossipGuy, a very gifted undergraduate student  whom I have informally mentored since he took my course.  He's been going through the arduous and often humbling experience of applying and interviewing for graduate school.  He was glowing, if that's really possible to do outside in 10 degree weather. Just returning from UW-Madison, he was over-joyed at being accepted into a great program. Yet, as words spilled out of his mouth, I realized that it wasn't just the program, but the people and region in which he would be living.  He told me that he really felt like he fit in somewhere.

As he shared with me all the great things about Madison, I mentally ate a piece of humble pie. I chose to work at my institution not just because I could do great research, but because I viewed it as a great place to live and raise a family.  I felt like I "fit" here.  How could I expect it to be any different for my students?

Much like my little boy teaches me at least one lesson each day, here my student had taught me something -- to think more broadly about what my students need to be successful.  That some things are out of my control - and that's OK (even if disappointing). Most importantly, that becoming a good mentor is a long process but that I'm not learning on my own - my students will help me along the way.

After Those Sweet Moments

I don't remember much from those few moments after my son was born.  Mostly just a mix of emotions - relief, contentment, apprehension - and the exhaustion that set in shortly after.  And later the tiny voice that echoed, "What did I get myself into?!"

That's not to say I wasn't overjoyed, I was, but I was also a bit overwhelmed.  Even with having the most amazing colleague taking over my class and no immediate pressure at work, the tenure clock never stopped ticking - loudly - in my ear.

Today, on the anniversary of my son's birth, I've learned a very valuable lesson -- how to ignore the ticking.  Or like any working parent, how to balance work and family.  For me that means focusing on using my work time most efficiently by prioritizing better, minimizing distraction (door closed more often), and saying no (not just to extra work assignments, but to leisurely trips to get coffee and extended lunches with colleagues).  I try not to think about work when I'm home and vice versa.  And most days, I'm satisfied.  So, much like TucsonMama, I ask you this -- what advice would you have for new parents striving to reach a balance?

How Can You Hate Saturday?

Just another way my life has changed since procreating. I occasionally hate Saturdays.  Ordinarily, I wouldn't have minded a day like today - heading to campus around noon and helping the rest of the department greet twenty-some prospective graduate students during our annual Visitation Day. Like many in my line of work, I find it difficult to be idle. Unfortunately, this means that for far too many of us, 40 hour work weeks get stretched beyond control to 80+ hours/week. But today, I was down right resentful.

You see, I am no longer just Professor. I now have an 8-month-old who generally goes to bed between 6-7 p.m. each night, which means on a good day I might spend 1-2 hours interacting with him. Often, it's less than an hour. And this amazing little creature is growing and learning at such a pace that even if I were a stay at home mother, I would find it difficult to keep up. But I'm not stay-at-home. I'm a working mom. Not only that, but I am a working mom who researches how people learn. So I am enthralled as I watch my son make sense of the world around him, not just as his mother but as a scientist. Frankly, I'm getting rather tired of missing out.

Today, after a week of 10+ hour work days, I was expected to participate fully in departmental events. Again, normally this wouldn't really bother me too much. I enjoy the students.  But at lunch, I realized something. Only half of the faculty have children, and of those, only 4 have children under the age of 8.  One of those faculty members didn't show up to participate.  I wish I had so much courage.  But I'm pre-tenure, and I've learned that I will be evaluated based not only on my actual talents as a scientist, teacher, and colleague but on my perceived talents as well.  So I grit my teeth, and participate.  And I fight back tears when my husband brings my baby to the poster session just 45 minutes before his bed time so that, on one of only two days of the week reserved for family, I can spend longer than an hour with my son. 

Yes, today I hated Saturday.