Most of us thought we’d spend our whole lives in academia. So when it turns out we won’t — whether we learn that we don’t want to, don’t get a job that actually pays the bills, or hit a roadbump along the way — it feels particularly craptastic. This is true even if we’re planning to stay but are having to rethink our relationship to academia. So this is a space for talking about the kinds of things that come up for people and how we can move past them.

A month or so ago, I was in my wife’s hometown attending my father-in-law’s memorial service. It went the way you expect these things to go, except for one small thing: My father-in-law taught in the same university department in which I earned my doctorate, and approximately a dozen of his colleagues — and my former professors — were there.

Cue the vague discomfort

Now, it was a department that very much operated around Old Guard v. Young Turk lines, so most of the people I worked most closely with were not, in fact, present that day. But one woman had been the head of the composition program for most of my graduate school career, and one gentleman had screwed up my entire year’s masters’ exam, and another ran the writing center when I put in my hours trying to help undergraduates pass their English classes.

And most of the rest I recognized and they recognized me, because you can only wander the same hallways for a few years without the indelible feeling of “I know that person.”

Somewhere near the end, I stood talking with a few of the MFA faculty, who asked me what I was doing now. I told them the short version of the saga (tenure-track position, didn’t like it, decided to leave), and one of them looked at me very seriously and told me that I had been very brave.

Brave? Really?

I thanked her, and the conversation moved on, but in my head I was thinking, That wasn’t bravery. That was desperation. That was saving my own life.

But I’ve been turning it over in my head since that day, and now I think she was right. But so was I.

Bravery and desperation — I’m not sure there’s much distinction there. We do what we have to do because we are at the end of our ropes, because we do need to save our own lives. But that doesn’t mean valuing our own lives and making the hard choices isn’t brave.

You, too, are brave

If you have ever confronted your own unhappiness in academia, you are brave. If you have thought about leaving, you are brave. If you’ve tried to figure out how to improve the situation you’re in, you’re brave. If you’ve contemplated finding a new career, you’re brave.

It probably doesn’t feel that way. But the safe course — the easy course, in many ways — would be to become cynical and jaded and deeply angry about the state of things and yet to accept it all as your due. To do anything else — to question, to explore, to problem-solve, to admit — is deeply, passionately brave.

And when you’re feeling desperate, remember that desperation is another form of bravery.

A few comments about comments

The whole question of being unhappy in academia — no matter what stage you’re in — can feel fraught. If you’d like to comment but are feeling shy about “being out there,” feel free to make up a persona or comment anonymously. You can also email me directly.

First-time commenters are always moderated (because you wouldn’t believe the spam I get), so if your comment doesn’t show up immediately, hang tight! Chances are, I’m not right on my email.

And most of all, let’s all practice compassion for ourselves and others in this difficult time and space.