First Person

On the Market

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By Caroline R. Logan

"Describe yourself in one word." Man, do I hate questions like that.

I had skipped over the question at least twice, doing anything and everything to avoid that riddle. I had washed all my clothes. I had rearranged all my DVD's, CDs, books, even the food in my kitchen, alphabetically. And I was about to start stripping the wallpaper in my bathroom, when I decided that I had better get on task.

As someone joining the fox hunt for that elusive tenure-track trophy, I feared I might encounter that question in a job interview. I knew I had better be prepared.

And what a perfect word, "prepared." Describes me perfectly. I'm always planning ahead, getting things organized, so that when the time comes, I'll be ... prepared.

It has a certain ring of responsibility to it -- hmm, "responsibility," an even better word. I am a very "responsible" person. I like to take charge and make sure things get done. But "responsible" sounds a little overly "prepared" and, thus, incredibly "lame." Which also happens to be a word that describes me perfectly, but nobody wants to hire someone who is "lame." So, I guess I'll go with "prepared." But I kind of like "responsible" better. ...

Back and forth, I waged that great debate in the privacy of my head, or so I thought. I didn't realize that I was actually talking out loud, or that my husband had walked into my home office/breakfast nook. "Am I interrupting your conversation?" he asked, with one eyebrow raised.

"I'm trying to decide between the words 'prepared' and 'responsible.'"

"For what?"

"To describe me in one word."

"Uh, why?"

"I'm preparing for job interviews."

Now he had both eyebrows raised. I'm sure he'll develop a prematurely wrinkly forehead on my account. "You know, babe, it's July."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, you still have a whole year of school left and you haven't even put in applications yet. You haven't even finished your dissertation."

"Well, I need to be, you know ... prepared." Grinning contently, I wrote down the word in my Elle Driver notebook. I liked that word.

"How about 'neurotic'?" came a voice from across the room. "How about 'obsessive compulsive?'"

"That's two words," I retorted. But, of course, he was right.

It was July of 2004 and I was entering my final year of graduate school, working on my Ph.D. in biology. Nobody ever really tells you when you start down this journey that the job market will be stiff. Or at least, as was the case with me, you don't really listen.

But toward the end, when that paper prize is in sight, you begin to realize that it's going to be a wee bit tougher than you thought. You are not able to just waltz into the department of your choice, lay claim to an office and a laboratory, and declare, "I'm here, let the party begin."

When realization dawned in the summer of 2004, I did what comes naturally. I freaked out. I started preparing my application materials, practicing for interviews, and obsessing over the job ads. And I was in a state of panic, because there were very few jobs available.

I confided my concerns to my dissertation adviser. He looked at me silently for a moment, and then said, "You know, it's only July."

I stared at him blankly.

"There will be more job ads, just wait."

I was taken aback. I had expected grandiose words of encouragement or solemn words of doom from the man, but all I got was "just wait."

Those are the two words I hate the most. I don't like to wait. I want things now and I want them fast; I want immediate and instantaneous gratification. I grumbled and sulked off to my office, and scribbled "impatient" on my list of one-word descriptors. Reluctantly, I waited.

A year later, I am pleased to announce that my adviser was right, as usual. There were more job ads. I applied for about 20 positions, and had a fair amount of success. I made it to the shortlist of at least five departments, had three phone interviews and two campus interviews. I was even offered a tenure-track position at one of the universities. Looking back, I think I did pretty well for someone without a Ph.D. in hand at the time of application.

In the end, I decided to follow a different route than the one I had originally planned. Many Ph.D.'s in the sciences work in a postdoctoral position for several years to improve their odds of getting a tenure-track job. Initially, I had wanted to bypass the postdoc and find a nice small-to-midsize, four-year college that emphasized teaching, something that I truly love.

The two places where I had campus interviews both fulfilled that requirement. One was a small liberal-arts college nestled in the mountains. The other was a rapidly growing university full of potential. Both were not that far from my childhood home and both were in the South, where I would like to work.

However, I decided to take a wonderful postdoc position that will allow me the opportunity to do some really great research. The truth is, after careful soul searching and actually going through the job-search process, I felt that I needed the extra experience that a postdoc would provide so that in the future I can be the best mentor and teacher that I can be.

I am going to start the job-search process all over again, and I know the experience I gained from last year will prove invaluable. I know that it will be a challenge and that it is going to be hard. But I'll be better ... prepared.