Earlier this week I went on a brief holiday to reset before the end of the teaching term and, well, the end of 2022. I’ve realized that my ideal time away from home is characterized by time spent outdoors and pared-down creature comforts. My sister tagged along with me this time and, although she has different ideas of what makes a good vacation, it was nice to share that time together. We hiked through the hilly Piedmont woodlands at Raven Rock, skirting the Upper Cape Fear River and the rocky outcrops that jutted from the stands of river birches and oaks. This little bit of time away from a busy schedule often helps me reorient myself, to get out of the day-to-day and see things from a different point of view.
This year has been a messy one of change and growth, one that has challenged me and reminded me of who I want to be (see my last post for a little insight). I have had some time to reflect on the past four years of being a full-time academic in the post-PhD life and it’s taught me a lot about what I like and what I don’t. I’ve encountered enough snobbishness, sexism, and bureaucratic nonsense within the academy to know for sure that the “traditional” tenure-track academic pipeline is not for me. I’ve always felt like I’m on the cusp of being the insider-outsider of the academic world, never quite fitting in. Now, I’m just embracing that. I’ve shelved a project that I worked on for eight years. It helped me earn my PhD, but I really couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. There are elements of that work that will continue to influence future projects and it will always be a formative part of what has made me a professional in my field. I’m feeling more at peace about that than I have in a very long time.
Having a full-time teaching gig that does not require research has been a double-edged sword. There isn’t the pressure to “publish or perish,” as one of my former professors put it, but there is also no support (financial or otherwise) for actually doing research and expanding the field. Instead of seeing that as a limiting factor, I’m choosing to embrace it a bit more. It means that I get to direct where my time and energy outside of teaching goes — something that a lot of other historians don’t get to do.
A few weeks ago I had lunch with one of the people who has been most influential on my career as a historian. Our conversations often rehash the same sorts of topics as we chat over the blue plate special at a favorite local diner, but this time felt oddly different. I continued to hear the same refrain of “this is how you should do this” or “this is what you should be working on.” When I got in my car I exhaled, letting out the breath that I had been holding for the past hour (and perhaps the last few years). I realized I have been so caught up with what others expect of me that I have failed to ask one simple question, “What do I want?”
When Mary Oliver wrote, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” did she have some glimmer of insight into what really matters? If my heart isn’t in what I do, then I’m just going through the motions. I’m sure a robot could recite a timeline of American History that might allow a classroom of students to pass a general exam, but I know that’s not what life is about. For me, the work that I do outside of the classroom helps keep me engaged. It inspires me to think differently about pedagogy and education, about connection and community.
I decided to put all non-essential projects on hold so I could start reevaluating them and my goals for the coming year. One day I pulled out a sheet of notebook paper and started writing down anything that came to mind about what I wanted to see more of in my work. I wrote down “out of office” and “fieldwork” alongside “creative work” and “collaboration.” Then I started dreaming.
I don’t know where the coming year might take me. I have some ideas, some clearer than others. I suspect I’ll be doing a lot more work outside of the walls of my office and with my boots on. Some things might work, others might fail miserably; but at least I will have tried. Whether that be in an archive or a swamp, I don’t mind.
