In my first column, I recounted how, after a long and almost entirely fruitless search for a tenure-track job, I decided to look for a position outside of academe. In fact, those two searches were not as discrete as I made them out to be.
It's well known that people fear the sound of desperation, as if it's catching. Some evolutionary instinct makes us want to avoid potential contamination. So I made a point of starting to learn about nonacademic possibilities quite early, while I still had an academic position, and while I was still pursuing tenure-track openings.
Some academics find the passage to and from nonacademic jobs easy, barely noticeable. I had colleagues in my doctoral program (an interdisciplinary, largely social-science program at a top research university in the Northeast) who did consulting before and during their graduate study, and who had every intention of returning to consulting afterward. The doctorate just meant they could bill at higher hourly rates, and occasionally correct people when they were addressed as Mr. or Ms.
Other colleagues were forced, through a lack of grant money or research momentum, to pause in the doctoral program. Several of them ended up working at top management-consulting firms. Others ended up getting jobs at organizations in our field, providing policy or data analysis that they hoped would contribute to their eventual dissertation.
None of that was true for me. I had been fully supported by a variety of external and internal fellowships and research grants throughout my program, so I had done no external consulting since starting graduate study.
Thus, my nonacademic job search started with a search for information: What exactly did the exotic creatures outside of academe do with their time?
I began by talking with people -- my colleagues, my former coworkers, my relatives. I talked to everyone I could think of who might have some information about relevant jobs. Some jobs were easy to eliminate from my list. I decided from the start that if I wasn't going to be an academic I might as well be happy. Happiness, for me, precludes the 80-hour weeks and constant travel of a position at a major management-consulting firm.
Instead, I focused on research and policy positions in government as well as in the industry that had been the subject of much of my doctoral work.
It helped that my wife was living in a city at some distance from the university where I had received my doctorate, in a place where my Ph.D. still sounded impressive. I began to contact people in the fields where I thought I could contribute, making preliminary phone calls and writing e-mail messages full of phrases like: "explore mutual interest," "learn more about your organization," "collaborative research opportunities," and so on.
The response to my e-mail messages, phone calls, and other networking attempts was mixed. For instance, after a brief phone conversation, an assistant deputy secretary of the relevant government department said my work sounded interesting, and he referred me to his "2 I.C." Fortunately, previous conversations with other government bureaucrats had alerted me to the fact that "2 I.C." stood for "second in command." (Because saying "second in command" takes too long.)
His 2 I.C. quickly followed up with an e-mail message saying that she would be glad to meet with me. At first, I believed her. Her department had just released a request for proposals on a topic that had been central to my dissertation. I had made what I thought was a compelling case to the department head about the extent to which I could address several pressing needs of the department. Of course she would want to talk to me. She cc'ed her secretary to set up an appointment.
Here's where it started to get difficult.
I e-mailed the secretary for dates when the 2 I.C. would be available. The secretary parried with an e-mail asking for dates when I could meet.
I obligingly suggested a few dates to the secretary, but told her I was flexible about the timing. The secretary e-mailed me back that the 2 I.C. wouldn't be there during those dates, as she would be on vacation. I asked again: What dates would the 2 I.C. actually be available?
By now I was getting the picture. I expected the secretary to e-mail me dates like August 35, September 0. Nonetheless, when I didn't hear from her after a few days, I called the secretary and we had the following conversation:
Me: When will Joanne be available?
Her: Um. I can't tell you.
Me: You can't tell me?
Her: I haven't checked her availability yet.
Me: But don't you have her schedule in front of you?
Her: Yes. But I haven't checked with her when she's available to meet with you.
Me: (Pause.) Well, when will she be going on vacation?
Her: I can't tell you.
Me: Right.
I presume her boss was simply too busy -- even the best acronyms can only save you so much time. Several weeks later, another secretary contacted me, apologized for the delay, and let me know that the 2 I.C. would have time to meet in about six weeks. I cursed my luck at not scheduling the meeting years before and decided to let it go.
To be fair, that experience was an exception. Most people in the relevant area of government were quite eager to meet me and hear about my research. I set up a half-dozen interviews with the heads of various agencies.
For instance, I met with the regional director of a federal research agency. He and his 2 I.C. (who was actually called "director of programs" or something inefficient like that) met me in a conference room with large windows and a lovely view of the city's skyline. Their secretary brought coffee and we chatted.
I told them about my research. "Fascinating, fascinating," they both said. I told them about other groundbreaking research in which I thought they would be interested. They told me about their take on developments in the field. It was a nice conversation.
Finally, I asked them to tell me a bit more about the work they did. The 2 I.C. paused, then asked me the question. "Let me ask you, first," he said. "Are you interested in doing research or more applied work?"
Let me back up for a moment. This was not my first interview outside of academe. I had learned that people were intrigued by my Ph.D. and by my dissertation topic, but they were concerned that the ivory tower had ruined me. A similar question came up in some form in every interview I had, sometimes coded behind questions about "strategy" and "operations."
It is a fair concern -- after hearing about a doctoral dissertation, they want to know whether I could do more concrete work as well. I had learned to emphasize the practical applications of my work. I had learned to use the word "applied" 13 times in a single sentence. Or at least twice.
And yet, for reasons I am at a loss to explain, sitting in that pristine conference room overlooking the city, I forgot all about that. I didn't miss a beat when he asked me that question. I said something like, "I don't see the two -- research and applied work -- as being mutually exclusive. When I was researching my dissertation, I was doing research with a real applied edge. In addition to the statistical analyses I was going into the world and talking to people and seeing how things really worked."
As the words were leaving my mouth, I saw his shoulders slump. He had been rooting for me, I realized. "We do applied work here, mostly," he said and went on to tell me exactly how applied his office's tasks were.
We talked for another half an hour, and I backpedaled insofar as it was possible without some kind of brain-wipe device that would have actually removed the memory of my words from their minds. Still, when we shook hands it was with the almost certain knowledge that I wouldn't be hearing from them again. Which made it a successful meeting, I suppose, as part of the idea of informational interviews is to focus your search on organizations that are a good match for you.
So I have been learning as I go. Subsequent information sessions have been useful for both me and my potential employers. I think I have left people with good impressions of me and a sense that I could fill various needs in their departments.
For my part, I have learned more about the services provided by different organizations, about their needs, and about the role I might play in meeting those needs. Now it is just a question of maintaining and extending contacts. Or so I hope.
Now, as my academic fellowship has come to an end, I am preparing for the final push toward my next job.
