The first two years of graduate school were simple enough. My wife and I were both starting out as Ph.D. students in the same history department, although in different subfields, at a large research university in Canada. Both of our dissertation advisers were on campus, and we saw them regularly. But since then, things have changed a little -- to say the least.
In our third year, we lived in London, conducting archival research for our dissertations. My wife's adviser moved to a new college, in Ontario, (about 1,200 miles west of her old institution) and when we came back from Britain we lived in Toronto for our fourth year so that my wife could work with her adviser. In our fifth year we moved to New Jersey (a move I recounted in a previous column) after I ran out of fellowship money and had to find a real job while I finished my dissertation.
In the last 12 months, things have only gotten more confusing: My own dissertation adviser has retired, and is guest lecturing in Southern California, while my wife's adviser has moved again, to a university in Western Canada. So the four of us, who were together on one campus as recently as 1999, are now just about as widely scattered over the North American continent as we can be.
Obviously that's not the ideal way to earn a Ph.D.
We have traveled partly because we like to, but our odyssey has certainly had its drawbacks: Personally, I miss attending the weekly departmental seminars, I miss the regular social and scholarly contact with my fellow grad students, and I miss having had the opportunity to gain teaching experience in my department. And it would have been nice to see a little more of my adviser over the years.
All of these factors are important to being competitive on the job market once you get the degree: You need a teaching dossier, reference letters from faculty members who know you well, and the chance to work on your dissertation uninterrupted by constant upheaval, in a supportive environment, and with positive feedback from colleagues.
But what about those of us far from our home institutions? What are we to do? Clearly, in addition to working on my dissertation, I've had to pursue other ways of staying in touch with the scholarly community and developing professional skills. What follows are some of the things I've learned along the way.
The first way that I've dealt with being far from my home institution has been to do more of what caused this problem in the first place -- travel. In the first few years of my career as a Ph.D. candidate, I went to about two conferences a year. In 2001, when the flux in our lives was at its peak, I presented six papers in six months. It might have been a bit much. I've since learned to tell myself "no" when I see a tempting call for papers, at least some of the time.
The main reason I wanted to go to so many conferences was simply to force myself to write. (Who knew a dissertation could be broken up into so many separate parts?) But conferences have also been valuable for the inspiration that comes from hearing other people's papers and experiencing their enthusiasm. I always come back from a conference eager to jump back into my own work. Besides using conferences to make new colleagues I've used them to keep in touch with old ones. In fact, the last two times I've met with my adviser, it's been at a conference, no where near our university.
The second thing I've done is to pursue small writing projects: book reviews and encyclopedia entries. I've done this mainly to remain engaged with my field, rather than out of any belief that such projects are comparable in intrinsic value to work on my dissertation or on peer-reviewed articles.
The idea is to find something that will provide a boost to your brain without being too much of a drain on your time. I was thrilled the first time I discovered a new book in my field at a conference, pitched an article to the book review editor of a journal, got a copy of the book in the mail, and eventually saw my review in print.
Similarly, it's very satisfying to be the final authority on your topic, even if it's only a few hundred words in a reference volume for high-school students. I've found that both of these kinds of writing can take a little longer than you first expect, but taking into account the experience gained, and the sense of accomplishment, it's time well spent.
Finally, I believe simply in staying connected. I belong to more Internet mailing lists than I can count or remember. If nothing else, they're the best source for conferences to attend and encyclopedias to write for.
I'm also a big fan of professional societies, which unfortunately aren't free. I think I'm a paid-up junior member of at least half a dozen, and I continually have to fight the temptation to join more. Still, the annual avalanche of renewal forms was an especially sobering experience this January, even at dirt-cheap student membership rates (which, I suppose, is how they get you hooked). And speaking of cost-effectiveness, this year I finally got around to putting up a basic Web site for myself, which at least one colleague (not counting family and friends) has found on his own so far.
I really can't complain; after all, it was my idea to get an editing job and move far away in the first place. It is too bad that I couldn't have been part of the daily life of my home department throughout my doctoral training, and I'll always wonder what it would have been like if things had turned out differently.
Nevertheless, I've kept myself more than sufficiently occupied while marching to the beat of my own drum. And I'm certain that having so many lines on my CV did make a material difference in getting me my present job, as an editor of historical documents.
Even more importantly, by taking the time to participate in professional activities at every stage of my graduate-school career, I've been able to hold on to the intellectual engagement and enthusiasm that originally led me to a career in history, even when I've been far from home.
