First Person

Thank You, Masked Man

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By Liam Reilly

No serious discussion about my job search can begin without first putting it in the context of the moderately dysfunctional relationship I share with my dissertation adviser.

I've worked for him, first as a graduate research assistant and then as a postdoctoral research fellow, for the past six years, and counting. He has accused me of trying to destroy his lab, I've blamed him for trying to destroy my life. We curse at each other openly, louder if there's an audience within earshot. We've become good at completing each other's sentences while discussing data and lobbing insults at unsuspecting colleagues.

Don't misunderstand my characterization. He's 30 years my senior, and there's no parity. He's the alpha-male, I'm the protégé (according to some) and/or sidekick (according to others). It's hard to imagine making a career move without his approval, tacit or otherwise, not to mention getting his letter of recommendation.

We've argued and bickered, joked and schemed, for six years and counting, but the counting ends July 30, 2005. After dreaming about it and fretting about it ad nauseam, I made up my mind it was time to move on. I turned in my 15-month notice last May.

While I realize that amount of warning nearly rivals the notice given by some lame-duck presidents, I figured it would take at least that long to get used to the idea of no longer playing Tonto to our department's great Lone Ranger.

I also figured 15 months would allow the masked man himself ample opportunity to get used to the idea of riding solo. We don't talk with each other about things that cause us to dream or to fret or even acknowledge that such sentiments exist. Better to stay focused on the science, better to keep up productivity.

I should also mention that I've tried to leave before. Four months before defending my dissertation, I started evaluating postdoc opportunities in a number of labs in our university's expansive medical school, a common practice for graduates of our department. It's an informal process, and some principal investigators were eager to have me join their research groups.

Then my adviser said something along the lines of, "I don't care, it's up to you, do what ever the [expletive] you want, but why don't you stay and [yet another expletive] around with this project a bit more." He has a way with words, and with flattery. You can't blame me for staying. Let's face it, he was practically down on his knees and begging.

No matter. It's now time to go. My wife has hopes of being closer to her family in the Pacific Northwest, and I have hopes of a permanent position far away from my current lab bench. Comparatively speaking, my wife's job and work experience make her highly employable in most major cities, and she's leaving it to me to find a job before she starts looking.

My job-search plan is rather atypical. I'm beginning with the premise that I may find my yet-to-be-defined "perfect" job by following a number of different career paths. I've decided to simultaneously search for a tenure-track faculty position at a selective liberal-arts college, a research position at a top medical school or research institute, and a position as a technical adviser or patent agent at a major law firm.

I have enough familiarity and experience with all three of those paths to have a prima facie belief that, for each position, I'm a qualified candidate and I'll enjoy the work. Each of the three satisfies my overarching objective of staying in the excitement of the life sciences while taking a metaphorical step (as a research scientist) or two (as a faculty member at a liberal-arts college) or five (as a patent agent) away from my current post.

In future columns, I'll detail my rationale for, and interests in, choosing those three career paths. Each appeals to me to a different extent for a different reason. If I had my druthers, and all things being equal, I would have to say serving at a liberal-arts college would be my top choice. Of course, just as all things aren't equal and druthers don't grow on trees, our strong geographical preference for the Pacific Northwest and a finite number of openings make it a formidable quest. Nonetheless, we'll call this -- my first-choice career path -- Plan A.

Plan B, working as a researcher in another lab in another medical school or research institute, would give me the most flexibility for making future career changes; however, such a job would most likely result in, at least initially, only a temporary appointment.

At the moment, I'm not completely sold on the idea of someday running my own lab. When I try to explain this to members of my current department, they often tell me that I've been traumatized by my adviser's dismal, myopic view of academic research and by being imprisoned in a negative work environment.

Our lab, negative? So, they may have a point. For that reason, Plan B isn't a bad alternative, and it may provide me with a rehabilitated outlook on research.

And finally, Plan C. Like it, love it, or hate it, a career in patent law in a biotech or life-sciences field means (very) gainful employment and never again having to slip out of the house in the middle of the night to transfer a Western blot or purify a protein complex. However, I'm not entirely certain if I'm ready for the burdens associated with having high net worth or giving up long hours purifying proteins that refuse to reconstitute.

I've developed a vocational calculus for deriving the desirability of each potential opportunity based on just how close the position brings us to our target location, just how desirable the employer is, and just how great the job sounds. If there's a job that meets the criteria, we're packin' up and movin' out.

I realize that looking at such different options all at once is not normal or ideal.

But, let's face it: Normalcy went out the window the day I drove to my adviser's home so he could blaspheme me in person without having to come in to work. And idealism, much like religious conviction, hasn't reared its ugly head inside our laboratory for many, many years.

I have no shame in being pragmatic or in thinking about my career in the holistic context of my life (and my wife's life and that of our soon-to-be-born child's life). Being an expectant father -- who a week ago refused to buy gerbils or a Chia-Pet because they were too much responsibility -- is adding to the quandary. I figure this is as good a time as any to consider all of my options without being too concerned about how it will look to everyone else.

And so I'm preparing to wage this three-front job search, attacking both the academic and nonacademic worlds, with all the gusto that a sidekick can muster. Victory on one front would be a success, victory on all three would be like having my very own druthers tree.

A couple of faculty openings have recently been announced (Plan A-type positions), and my wife and I are starting to realize how time-consuming and expensive having a kid is going to be (let's go Plan C). The most immediate development is that I just received an invitation to present my work and go to an interview at a prominent research institute in my wife's hometown (hello Plan B).

Great. Now, I simply need to fill my adviser in on the plans and my druthers. There is a process involved here. He doesn't know about my tripartite approach, let alone that I already have a potential suitor. Something tells me this might be complicated.

Today I'm practicing what I'll say. Tomorrow I'll go into his office and see what hits the fan.