Joshua: After enduring five years of a long-distance relationship, Kathleen and I had solved our two-body problem -- sort of. Far from what might be termed a "parsimonious" solution, in the jargon of my discipline, life felt unnecessarily complicated. As chronicled in our last column, Kathleen had maneuvered herself into the decidedly awkward position of having three full-time academic positions. She was a tenured associate professor at a regional state university in the West. She had then taken a leave of absence from this position to join a teaching center at a university within commuting distance of my academic post in the Midwest. And she had recently accepted a position as an advanced assistant professor at a small liberal-arts college somewhat closer to the university where I worked.
Unfortunately, none of these provided a perfect solution. Kathleen had tenure at her West Coast institution, but my attempts to land a job there had failed. Her experience working with faculty members at the teaching center had been valuable, but it had also made clear to her how much she missed teaching her own students. And her latest position would require her to give up tenure and take a 25-percent cut in pay.
Around this time, I was invited to participate in a panel discussion on academic two-body problems (a topic on which I felt fully qualified to comment). The panel also included a husband-and-wife team of scientists who managed to secure two tenure-track jobs at the same prestigious institution on their first year on the market. I spent the entire discussion trying to offer a counterpoint to their incessant optimism. I felt that the graduate students in the audience would not be well served expecting the remarkable good fortune my co-presenters had enjoyed.
The truth was, I envied this couple. I envied their jobs at the same institution. But more than anything else, I envied the perfection of their solution -- no guilt, no tradeoffs, no sacrifices -- just sharing a 10-minute commute to work every morning.
Kathleen: Just when I was getting used to the idea of resigning and giving up tenure, I received an e-mail message from "Dave," one of my senior colleagues at my home institution. Two tenure-track psychology searches had been approved for this year. He didn't know what the specialties were, but wanted to send along a note just in case one was a fit for Josh. He added: "We are still hoping!" His note meant a lot to me. Dave was a mentor and a friend. We have similar interests and teaching styles, and his note reminded me how much I missed working with him.
My thoughts were interrupted by the impending start of yet another meeting. Meetings seem to define my days in administration more than anything else. Before leaving for my meeting, I quickly forwarded Dave's note to Joshua with no explanation.
Joshua: Kathleen's e-mail message totally stressed me out. I was completely unqualified for one position and ill-suited for the other. Furthermore, during the past month, I had received rejection letters for three papers I had had under review. As a result, the publications section of my vita looked identical to the version I had submitted with my job application last time around. Needless to say, these rejections also did little to increase my confidence in earning tenure at my present job.
For the rest of the day, my fears and insecurities mounted. I taught absentmindedly. I avoided thinking about my research. Mostly, I waited for the opportunity to talk with Kathleen that evening. What did she want me to do? And how could I explain to her that my application, which had failed to net me a job offer last time, might not even earn me an interview this time around?
Kathleen: This was one of our more awkward conversations. What did I want? I wanted my old job, my old salary, tenure, and to live with my husband. I also wanted Josh to have the perfect job. OK, so maybe I was being unrealistic.
What I really didn't want was for Josh to take a job to be with me, only to be unhappy. By then, he had put in a few years towards tenure, he enjoys working with Ph.D. students, and he has a very active research group. My experience over the past year in an unsatisfying job was, frankly, not something I wanted either one of us to go through again.
On top of all this, I had already given notice at the teaching center and committed to the job at the liberal-arts college. How could I go there for part of a year, then leave to reclaim my former position? Everyone at the college, especially my new colleagues, had been great. Teaching was valued. I'd (hopefully) have tenure in just a few short years. The college was expanding and building its reputation. Did I really care so much about salary and the title "associate professor"?
On top of all this, Josh and I both felt stung by his experience applying for a job at my West Coast institution. I was especially hurt. On an emotional level, Josh not getting the job felt like a personal stab in the back.
Given all this, how could I ask him to apply?
Joshua: After a long, difficult conversation, we decided to determine whether I should even bother to apply. So, I wrote to the chairman of psychology at Kathleen's West Coast institution. I expressed my continued interest in employment opportunities there, reminded him of Kathleen's tenured position in chemistry, outlined my qualifications, and asked if he would recommend that I apply for either position.
The next day I received a response. The chairman remembered me and said it was flattering to know I was still interested in coming to his department. He then explained that, unfortunately, there was little flexibility in either position, and, therefore, he could not encourage me to apply.
His letter closed with a note of encouragement: "I do hope that you and Kathleen find an academic place to work together. You are both excellent professionals, and I am sure that this will eventually happen."
Thanks.
Next: Are we there yet?
