unclear outlook

Busy was the word I had in mind when I opened my computer to start this post. I'm so busy I don't have the time to do the things I normally do, blogging among them. In the first two-and-a-half months of the year, I've only read two books (and one of them I didn't even finish). Extrapolated to the year, this is much below the average. I haven't written a proper blog post in a long time, either.

But as I got ready to write, rationalizing some of the ideas I want to lay out, I realized that busy isn't the right word to describe the state I've been in. I haven't had time, that's true, but the reason is different: I've been extraordinarily occupied. My job is coming to an end in April and nothing is sorted out yet. I'm constantly thinking about finishing up here and about moving, but I have no facts to base my thoughts on. I don't have a new job lined up and my thoughts are floating without purchase, unable to hang on to anything that would give direction or purpose.

When I set out as an equally ambitious and clueless undergraduate studying biochemistry, I didn't think for a minute that I would be at the end of my wits fifteen years later and completely unclear about the path lying ahead. It's a disconcerting experience. I've made the steps largely as they were laid out in the academic book of wisdom, but something appears to have gone wrong.

I don't want to sound negative, mostly because I don't feel negative, but some things are clearly not as a wide-eyed undergrad would have envisioned them. In the past, near the end of every engagement, another one materialized that could be interpreted as the logical progression of my career, though the word is grander than what I was experiencing. I worked as a postdoc and then a senior postdoc, and I got the respect and appreciation that I felt I deserved. I made contributions and didn't go unnoticed.

And yet, at the end of five years in London, there's a big wall blocking my way. One way forward would be to scale the wall and find independence and responsibility beyond it. I could run my own lab, in other words. Unfortunately, the accumulated evidence of my academic success is poor in the category that matters most. I haven't first-authored papers reporting the results of my research. I still think that I'm cut out for the job, that I'd be good at running a lab, but I doubt I'll get the chance to prove that. The wall appears sky-high, daunting and insurmountable.

In the face of painfully hurdling the wall, the smart alternative is to go around it, changing direction and reinventing one's career to some degree. This is what I'm trying to do. I've searched broadly over the last year, applying at universities, research institutes and companies. I have a good idea of what would make me really happy, plus there are a few more options that I'm sure would get me out of bed and to work full of excitement every morning. I had interviews for a large variety of positions, but none has worked out.

There was the best job ever. Unfortunately, another candidate was much better qualified. I would have done as the bosses did and preferred him. Then there was a plush but less ambitious job in the sticks of Germany. Flucha would have been a bit out of her depth there, so I didn't take the process overly seriously and missed out on an offer. The only corporate interview I had only taught me what I wouldn't do. When they asked me to come out again, I declined.

I stand proud and my principles hold, but I will soon be out of a job. This is not the end of the world as such. Rest might be beneficial, and the increasing financial constraints on life might focus my energies after I've rested enough. Hauling all my things down to Marseille for what might only be a few months will be painful but beat staying in London without an income.

I'm aware of the options but don't contemplate them seriously yet because there's still time to enact plan A. I have several applications running and new jobs are being posted daily. In addition, I have come under the tutelage of a recruitment agency the other day, even though I hadn't been aware of their existence in the world of science.

They replied positively to my CV and cover letter, and a few weeks later we had a long telephone interview. At the end of it, I was told that the position I had applied for had already been filled. Days later, I was sent another offer, again for a job that has been filled, this time months ago. "To give you an idea and help you decide whether a position like this would work for you."

It would, but I'm not quite sure whether I'm talking to the right people. Are they helping me or mocking me? I haven't got an interview or even an opening to respond to. But I should be patient. They wouldn't be talking to me if they weren't optimistic about my future. After all, my success is their income.

Besides being in contact with recruiters and preparing documents for them, I've also embarked on what is possibly an absurd undertaking: I'm applying for a position that is nominally in the French civil service. The application procedure, inflexible and confining like a full-body cast, has me shaking involuntarily, trying to break imaginary bonds. The position will offer freedom and a good life, but the path there is beset with mighty roadblocks – and I'll be sharing it with dozens of applicants with better language skills, a better understanding of the system, and a degree issued in the right country.

While the French letter of motivation is trying to take shape in my head, other cover letters need composing. The recruiters want this and that. My dad is here; other visitors are on their way. I'm also still working, full-time. I can hardly think straight for five minutes without being distracted by something that appears momentarily more important. There's so much going on – just don't expect to read about it here.