Why do I write this?

The simple one word gut reaction answer: Perspective. I read what I have written and am horrified by the bitterness, shocked by the spleen and ashamed of the whining. Then I feel better. Or I record the good times so that I remember that I did enjoy myself as well. Better yet, thinking about what to write helps me understand the things I am feeling and brings thoughts to the surface that I never even knew were lurking. It has been really good for me to put my thoughts down, to be organized, and to try and articulate the jumble of observations, instincts and hit-or-miss insight that make up my mind. It has been so reassuring and so heartening to read about all those other women, and men, out there who think about these things, write about them and share some really interesting ideas.

Another reason that has recently made the list, surfacing through the murky depths by the aforementioned process is this. I have moved to a different country, done rotations, done a Ph.D., started a post-doc and am in the process of figuring that particular stage out. I think I have realized and understood all these things that I want to tell other people who are starting down this perilous road, but how does one? If you're anything like me, you're probably not going to want to hear it, you want to live it and figure it out. And that is the way it should be. So I decided to just write about the things I see and the things I think, and occasionally about the science I love (but that's another blog). I figure, if you want to read it, I'll be honoured. And maybe the snapshots from my life will seem like something you're going through and maybe it will help, as it helps me every day, to know that other people are slogging through the same stuff. It's really not just you.

How does one ever say these things in person, or socially, unless it's to a really close friend? I feel embarrassed, soppy even. Know-it-all at worst, sentimental at best. So I take refuge in anonymity and write. I take deep refuge in anonymity and vent some of my frustrations with the people I work with because I cannot tell them they are jackasses to their face. And I try and acknowledge all those people who make it worth it, because it isn't all bad. Being a postdoc has ups and downs and roundabouts but a surprising number of people persist. This persistence is one of the reasons the system gets away with being the system, but more on that another day. We still do Ph.D.s and ruin our arms doing lab work, and as long as there is beer and there are pipettes, postdocs will continue to work. Hopefully, eventually under better conditions.

And that brings me to the third reason: the community. We are a community unlike others I belong to, united by intelligence, drive and discontent. We are close-knit because we are so alien and unfamiliar to mainstream society, not many people know what a postdoc let alone what it entails. We are bright enough to know we deserve better treatment, but we work on despite that in a quixotic quest for something-defining knowledge, overwhelming idealism, fame, glory, a Nobel prize or the cure for AIDS. I love writing this because I feel like I speak to a community, and hopefully, by trying to articulate what one may not be able to, occasionally speak for that community.

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